


The Marriage Proposal

by Thetruehamsolo



Series: Proposals [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Eventual Smut, Fluff, Implied Past Abuse, Implied past drug use, Implied/Referenced Sexual Harassment, Kidnapping, Love Confessions, M/M, Major Character Injury, Marriage, Sexytimes, Shooting, Sleepytimes, Tooth Rotting Fluff, Torture, a little bit of angst, hand holding, it will get more angsty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-12
Updated: 2014-09-15
Packaged: 2018-01-24 11:36:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 100
Words: 97,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1603709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thetruehamsolo/pseuds/Thetruehamsolo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Our Baker Street boys are getting married (cue collective <i>finally</i> from half of London's population), but it's only for a case; temporary and completely faked. Unless, of course, nothing goes according to plan and they stumble across something much bigger than either of them had anticipated, forcing them to face their repressed feelings and consider sacrificing everything to make it out alive.</p><p> </p><p>  <i>“Three homosexual couples who recently got married have been killed in the last month. Their killer is getting more audacious; targeting progressively more famous couples. We’re going undercover.”</i><br/><i>John set his mug of tea and the paper down on the coffee table and, without a word, stormed from the flat.</i><br/><b>This story is now complete.</b></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. “Yes. I’ll marry you.”

“You want me to _what_?”  
  
“Don’t make me say it again. You know I abhor repetition.” Sherlock Holmes groaned at his flatmate, as if there was nothing abnormal about his request.  
  
“I won't do it.”  
  
Sherlock flashed a cheeky grin. “See, I knew you heard me.”  
  
John stood staring down at his flatmate, completely flabbergasted. “Why the hell would I, though?” He couldn’t process Sherlock’s logic for the life of him. Being ever the British man, he took a sip of tea to help calm his nerves.  
  
The detective sat up from his usual sprawled-on-the-couch position and tossed a newspaper at John. He caught it with a frown and looked at the headline on the front page. “Sherlock?”  
  
“Three homosexual couples who recently got married have been killed in the last month. Their killer is getting more audacious; targeting progressively more famous couples. We’re going undercover.”  
  
John set his mug of tea and the paper down on the coffee table and, without a word, stormed from the flat.  
  
Sherlock stared vacantly at the door his flatmate had just marched through and shrugged. He laid back down into his usual thinking position and let his mind wander off.  
  
 *******  
  
“Have you moved since I left yesterday?” John asked, strolling back into the flat the next morning.  
  
“What for?” Sherlock droned with a disinterested shrug.  
  
John rolled his eyes. “Yes.” He paused. “Yes. I’ll marry you.”  
  
“Excellent.” Sherlock said, instantly brightening. “I knew you’d come around eventually. Mycroft says he can do the paperwork for us so we don’t have to do the whole ceremony thing.”  
  
John nodded, swallowing thickly. He, once again, was in desperate need of tea so he hurried into the kitchen. “Sherlock, I am only doing this for the case, alright?”  
  
“Yes, yes. Now, for the rings. We’ll need them to look authentic so we can fool the public. If the public believes us, it’s more likely our serial killer will too.”  
  
John’s head appeared around the door to glare at Sherlock. “You never said anything about fooling the public.”  
  
“I didn’t have time.” Sherlock scoffed. “You disappeared before I could explain anything. We need to make this look as real as possible, so it’s best just to lie to as many people as possible.”  
  
John regretted saying yes to this. “Do we actually have to be married? Can’t we just pretend?” The kettle dinged and John busied himself with the tea-making ritual to prevent himself from throttling his flatmate.  
  
“He checks the records, John.” Sherlock drawled. “That’s how he chooses his victims. Mycroft will divorce us as soon as we’ve caught him.”  
  
“Should we change our names then?” John paused, surprised that he was actually considering this.  
  
“We should for authenticity. We can take yours or mine, it doesn’t matter.” Sherlock sounded smug, satisfied with himself that he’d convinced John.  
  
“Or both.” John suggested upon returning to the sitting room and holding out a mug to Sherlock. “Watson-Holmes.”  
  
Sherlock took the drink with a shrug. “Whatever it takes to get you to agree.”  
  
“How long will the divorce take then?”  
  
“Mycroft can get it done in a matter of hours.” Sherlock mumbled. “So just as fast as the marriage; we should be husband and husband by tomorrow.”  
  
“Wonderful.” John said sarcastically. He sat in his armchair and watched Sherlock closely for a long minute. “What if we stayed married?” He suggested quietly.  
  
Sherlock opened one eye lazily. “What?”  
  
“Don’t make me say it again.” John mocked. “You know I abhor repetition.”  
  
Sherlock shot him a half smile, trying to hide his amusement. “Why would we stay married?”  
  
“The last time you got hurt, I had to pretend to work in Bart’s to see you.” John reminded him.  
  
The detective nodded to acknowledge the point John was making. He hadn’t particularly enjoyed his last stay at the hospital and was grateful when John had finally managed to get in and rescue him from the idiotic staff. His mind whirred, considering the idea. “It would also provide financial benefits for both of us.” Sherlock added. “However, there is the problem of your dates. Most women don’t date married men. Especially not ones married to other men.”  
  
“Fuck the dates.” John said exasperatedly. “Their only purpose is to avoid being alone for the rest of my life. But I’ve got you so I don’t really need them.”  
  
Sherlock froze. “I’m flattered, John. But you know... Well you know how I function and -”  
  
“I know.” John interrupted. “I don’t mean like that. I just mean that I won’t be alone.”  
  
“Well...” Sherlock didn’t sound convinced. “You know what you’re signing up for, John. And we can always get a divorce later.” He stood up. “And that is it for now. If you have any questions, text me; I’ll be outlining our plan to Lestrade.”  
  
With that, Sherlock Holmes got up and swished from the flat. 


	2. "I want only the best for my Sherly."

Sherlock stormed into the flat not two hours later. "How could anyone be so idiotic?” He fumed, assuming he already had his flatmate’s attention. “Honestly John. I informed Lestrade of my ingenious plan and he tried to convince me it’d never work. He doesn’t think I can portray the role of a caring husband.”  
  
John looked up from the meal he was eating at his flatmate. Sherlock's impromptu arrivals hardly surprised him anymore. Once he had processed the man's speech he chuckled lightly. "That's because he's never seen you when the two of us are alone, love." _Just getting into character_ , he told himself. _That's all_.  
  
The endearment caught Sherlock by surprise, though he refused to let that show on his face. He quickly realized what John was doing, though, and smirked as he decided to play along. "Indeed he hasn't" he replied in his usual deep, silky tone. "Although, I think I like the fact that this side of you remains for my eyes only." As he said these words, he sat down in the chair across from John, locking his eyes with the deep blue ones of his blogger, waiting to see how John would react to being the sole focus of his attention.  
  
John felt a light blush paint his cheeks and cursed himself. Ever the stubborn soldier, he wasn’t going to let himself be so easily charmed. However, as he continued to meet Sherlock’s gaze, he felt himself getting more and more lost in the endless azure. "If we're going to get married, I'm afraid we're going to have to share this with the rest of the world." He said, the disappointment in his voice not something he had to fake. "We should go shopping for rings after dinner. Seeing as we'll be married in the morning."  
  
"Pity," Sherlock muttered and almost meant it. Almost. "I know a man who runs a pawn shop over in Covent Gardens. I believe we'll be able to find something adequate there. We can leave whenever you're finished," he said, gesturing to the bowl of curry that John was devouring.  
  
John nodded. "You don't want to get something better than ‘adequate’, seeing as this marriage is a more permanent thing than we previously planned?" He asked. "And there's a bowl for you in the microwave." He said hopefully.  
  
"Not hungry," He replied curtly, before addressing the rest of John's concerns. "When I originally proposed I hadn't expected that it would turn into a long-term event. The rings themselves are merely symbols, so I didn't think you would approve to spending a large quantity of money on something so trivial."  
  
"You're never hungry. Please, darling, for me?" John blinked at Sherlock, doing his best puppy eyes. Then he shrugged. "If I'm going to be wearing something for the rest of my life, I kind of want it to be of good quality. Plus, I want only the best for my Sherly." He added, teasing.  
  
"Do not call me that," Sherlock growled. "If the quality of the ring means so much to you, _dear_ , I also know a man who runs a high-end jewellery store that owes me a favour. And why do you keep on insisting that I eat? We're on a case." He didn't understand why John was putting so much effort into this. Yes, he needed their relationship to look realistic, but they were alone right now, not even Mycroft was looking in on them… probably. Why did John seem to care so much? Voices from the past echoed through his mind, chanting "freak" and "psycho". _No_ , he thought, _no one could ever care that much. It's just part of John's act_.  
  
John frowned. "Look, I'll stop if you want." He said dejectedly. He couldn't understand it. "I'll stop all of it." He stood up. "I'm going to bed seeing as I can do nothing but wrong down here. We can go shopping in the morning." Without so much as a ‘good-night’, in case he offended Sherlock again ( _God, this man could be a **pain**_ ), he dumped his bowl in the sink and left the room.  
  
A moment later he reappeared. "You know what, forget it. Get the pawned rings and we'll get a divorce straight after this case is finished." He paused to collect his thoughts. "I know people have been horrible to you in the past and some still are now, but I would never do that to you, so just stop pushing me away for caring, ok?"  
  
Sherlock gaped at John's outburst. He then caught sight of pain and sadness in his flatmate's expression and felt as if a heavy stone had settled in his gut. Guilt, perhaps? For what? He had done nothing wrong. Or had he? Why were emotions so complicated? At some point, he interrupted his own thoughts with the reminder that John was probably still waiting for some sort of verbal response. He needed to make amends, or else risk jeopardizing the entire case. That meant he had to... apologize. He grimaced at the very thought, but there was no other solution at the moment.  
  
Sherlock took a deep breath. "I'm sorry," he mumbled.  
  
John sighed. "So am I. Jesus, I shouldn't have yelled at you. But seriously, Sherlock, don't you think if I was going to leave like everyone else, I'd have done so by now?" He glanced at Sherlock with a small smile. "I'll see you in the morning, husband dearest." He said, his voice full of gentle teasing and subtle hints of love. He turned around and this time did not reappear.  
  
John's words repeated in Sherlock's mind long after the doctor was out of sight. True, he had stuck around far longer than Sherlock had ever anticipated. Maybe… no, no he had learned his lesson already. "Alone protects me," he whispered to the empty room. He arose and walked over to the microwave to pull out the curry, dumping it down the sink before he too went off to bed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all your kudos and kind words on the last chapter! I'll hopefully be updating every day. I've got the whole thing written so I promise it won't get abandoned halfway through.
> 
> For more of my writing, you can go to [**thelizlanganblog.tumblr.com**](http://thelizlanganblog.tumblr.com)


	3. "Spouses protect people."

The next morning John woke up with a text from Mycroft Holmes.  
  
[ _You are now married to my brother, Dr Watson-Holmes. Good luck. MH_ ]  
  
He frowned. _Good luck?_ He knew what Sherlock was like already, why would marriage change a thing? He got up and dressed himself in suitably 'gay' clothes (He was going ring shopping with another man, after all) and traipsed downstairs. His husband (that word felt weird to describe Sherlock. _Weirdly right_ , his brain added, though he pushed that thought as far down as it would go and left it there) was on the couch. John went into the kitchen to get two mugs of tea. He noticed Sherlock's dinner in the sink and sighed but didn't mention it ( _best not after last night_ , he thought). He walked over to Sherlock and handed him the mug. "No." He said, in response to what he'd heard Sherlock say the night before. "Spouses protect people." Oh god, he thought as realisation hit him. _I'm married to Sherlock Bloody Holmes_.  
  
 _He heard?_ Sherlock thought, before chuckling softly. "You always find a way to surprise me, John Watson-Holmes." Sherlock shot John a charming smile, focused on playing the role of the loving husband. "You ready to go select the rings, dear? Or would you like to eat a more filling breakfast first? I can wait." He held up the smile, but in his mind he was dwelling on the events of last night. This entire ordeal was starting to bring up unpleasant memories. _I don't have time to think of the past, it's not relevant to the case, he thought_. All he needed to do was keep up the act until they caught the murderer, and then he could lay these pesky emotions to rest. He watched as John sat in his chair, drinking his tea while skimming the newspaper. John smiled as he read something amusing, and Sherlock couldn't help but smile too.  
  
John glanced up from the paper to catch Sherlock looking at him. "Something the matter, love?" He asked softly, surprised when the man did not look away. John held his gaze, confusion and concern filling his eyes.  
  
Ever the actor, Sherlock flashed John a reassuring grin before getting up and walking over to the bemused doctor. He reached down and placed a quick peck to the top of John's head. "Just admiring the view," he said, before sauntering off towards the bedroom to get properly dressed for today's outing. "Let me know when you're ready!" he called back over his shoulder before closing the bedroom door shut behind him.  
  
John felt his face go bright pink and was immediately thankful that Sherlock wasn't in the room. _He’s just acting_ , John told himself. _Acting. Not really attracted to me. Not wanting to kiss me. Acting_. John finished eating and called out, washing out this morning and last night's dishes. "I'm ready, love. Shall we go do this?"  
  
Sherlock strolled out of his room dressed in slim black pants and his favourite purple button down. His coat was halfway on and his scarf fluttered loosely around his neck as he headed towards the front door. "Come along John!" He called, pausing just long enough to hold the door open for his flustered partner, who was rushing around grabbing his own winter wear, to run by him out of the flat and out into the street. Sherlock grinned at his antics. "There goes John Watson-Holmes, my husband" he chuckled to himself, before finally chasing after him  
  
John just managed to hear what Sherlock said to himself and frowned. No, no, no. Sherlock Holmes ( _or Watson-Holmes_ , John added mentally) didn't care for him. _No_. John turned around as Sherlock closed the front door. He held out his hand, somewhat nervously, hoping his husband would have the sense to take it. "So where are we going to buy these?" He asked.  
  
"Kensington." He answered. Sherlock took John's hand without fuss, noting how warm it felt. He barely caught himself from brushing a thumb over the calloused knuckles, formed from years of fighting in the army, and defending Sherlock from vicious criminals. He quickly hailed a cab and opened the door to let John clamber inside. "After you, darling," he teased.  
  
John smiled and clambered in. He slid to the far window and let Sherlock tell the driver the address. They pulled away from the curb and John sighed, leaning his head against Sherlock's shoulder, squeezing his hand softly.  
  
Frankly, Sherlock was surprise with how John fluidly was adapting to the role. It was almost like John wanted... he abandoned the thought. Instead he looked ahead and spotted the cab driver eyeing them in the rear-view mirror. A quick heated glare from Sherlock had him quickly shifting his eyes back to the road where they remained for the duration of the trip.  
  
John, still silently snuggling Sherlock, noticed the cabbie looking at them. Good, this was working then.  
  
After a while, they reached the address. Sherlock got out immediately as John, as usual, was left to pay the driver. "Thanks." He said, getting out of the cab. He took Sherlock's hand again as the taxi drove away. Now it was more important than ever to be a proper couple. He noticed that Sherlock was uncharacteristically quiet. "You alright, love?"  
  
John's inquiry snapped Sherlock out of his hypnotic trance, "Wha- fine, John, I'm fine." He turned and gave John's hand a reassuring squeeze, before gazing back into the store window. _Why is she here_? he thought with a sinking feeling in his stomach. His immediate thought was to turn and leave, but that would raise too much suspicion from his new spouse, which would lead to unwanted questions. _Perhaps she won’t recognise me… It’s been well over a decade_. At any rate, he couldn't stall any longer. With a firm grip on John's hand he strode forward and walked into the shop, hoping that there would be no more unwanted surprises.  
  
John didn't believe Sherlock for an instant. However, he pushed the concern he felt aside, even though Sherlock now had a death grip on his hand, and followed the taller man into the shop.  
  
"Sherlock!" the clerk greeted boisterously. He then spotted John and looked down between them where there hand's were joined, letting loose a sly grin at the sight. "You clever man, Sherlock Holmes, I told you that you would end up in my shop again one day, didn't I?" He chuckled.  
  
"Yes. I suppose you did." Sherlock replied, trying his hardest not to smile but the jolly attitude of the shopkeeper was very, very contagious. Unfortunately the shopkeeper's excitement was also drawing a lot of attention from the other customer's in the store.  
  
 _Please don't notice, please don't notice_ , chanted through Sherlock's mind. He was almost struggling to keep up his cool facade. They just needed to get the rings, and get out, and then figure out why the universe seemed particularly keen on making him suffer as of late.  
  
He walked closer to the counter and started introductions. "John, this is Milano. Milano, John. We're, um, in need of some rings.”  
  
Milano's grin should have broken his face. He was practically jumping up and down as he told the two to stay put while he skipped to the back room to fetch some items.  
  
 _Please don't notice; please have forgotten, please, please_.  
  
John frowned at Sherlock's obvious discomfort. "What's wrong, love?" He asked, not faking the concern in his voice.  
  
 _Can't let John know_. "Nothing. I'm just nervous," He said, with smile to match his words. He raised John's hand up and pressed a chaste kiss to the worn knuckles. "This is a very important moment after all." _Are those footsteps approaching? Don't come near me, go away_.  
  
John frowned. Sherlock hadn't cared about the rings five minutes ago. Something else was up. "Sherlock. I know you better than this. Please. What's wrong?"  
  
 _Shit_ , Sherlock cursed. _Why can't John be as oblivious as the rest of them...because then he wouldn't want to have you around… Damn it all_. Sherlock turned his head and saw John staring back at him with puzzlement and concerned, along with a look that he knew meant John would continue with the line of questioning until he got satisfactory answers.  
  
He was about to lean down and whisper the words "I’ll explain later" in John's ear, when they both heard a piercing voice call of "Sherly?" His spine went rigid at the old nickname. _Please no, no, no…_ He did not want to turn around, but John was getting suspicious. The voice called again, and he was sure he visibly flinched this time. Slowly and reluctantly, he turned around, finding himself face to face with his past. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all your kudos and kind words on the last chapter! I'll hopefully be updating every day. I've got the whole thing written so I promise it won't get abandoned halfway through.
> 
> For more of my writing, you can go to [**thelizlanganblog.tumblr.com**](http://thelizlanganblog.tumblr.com)


	4. "Coreopsis Arkansas."

John frowned as he found himself facing a female clone of Sherlock Holmes. _Oh my god_ , he thought, instantly realising who it was, _this is Sherlock's mother_.   
  
"Sherly." The woman said again, a smile in her voice this time. "Hello, dear. And this must be Dr John Watson." She held out her hand and John took it and, so unsure of how to react to this regal presence, kissed it hesitantly.   
  
"Watson-Holmes." He corrected, and then glanced at Sherlock, hoping he'd done the right thing. "You must be Mrs Holmes. It's lovely to finally meet you."   
  
Sherlock's mother frowned and John froze. _Shit_ , he thought, _I forgot Sherlock was from one of those old wealthy families, what if she's homophobic_...   
  
His fears were pushed aside as the woman kissed his cheek. "Darling, if you're part of the family, you must call me Mummy, I insist." She frowned, glancing at Sherlock with a look that clearly said; _Make sure your father **never** finds out_.   
  
"Hello, Mummy." Sherlock mumbled. "It's been some time now, hasn't it? Still working on that book?" In fact, it had been approximately thirteen years since he last saw his dear mother. His father had not been too pleased when he found out about the drugs Sherlock had been experimenting with and was quick to throw him out on the streets. Fortunately, at the time, he was more than pleased to finally escape the place he was supposed to call home.   
  
"It's been too long, dear, too long. I finished it, but no publishers would take it. It's been sitting in my desk drawer for eleven years." Mrs Holmes said indifferently, glancing between the two boys. "I should leave you two. Darling, you need to come over some time for dinner. When your father isn't home, perhaps. I'll be in touch." And without waiting for a goodbye, she turned on her heel and flounced from the shop.   
  
John tried not to stare after her, making it look to the rest of the customers that he'd met her before. A man about to be married would hardly not have met his in-laws. He glanced up at Sherlock instead. "Are you ok, love?" He said, squeezing his hand softly.   
  
"We are not going to dinner with her, John." He stated, even though John hadn't asked it out loud. John looked like he was going to ask something else, but they were interrupted when the shopkeeper re-emerged from the back carrying a glass case.   
  
"Here you are. Lovely rings for the lovely couple." He joked, setting the display case out on the counter so that they could peer inside. "See anything that catches your fancy? I picked this selection out special, just for you," He said with a wink.   
  
John didn't want to look at rings anymore; he wanted to comfort Sherlock about his past (in a very heterosexual way, of course). But he did nothing but squeeze the man's hand again in a promise of later.   
  
He turned his attention to the rings, keeping as close an eye as he could on Sherlock without the man's noticing. He found a pair that were lovely; simple gold bands on which a single delicate flower was engraved. "Coreopsis Arkansas." He whispered to Sherlock. "Victorian Flower speak for ' _Love at first sight_ '." He smiled up at Sherlock, almost forgetting that he was only pretended to be in love with the man in the excitement of it all. "Kind of describes us, love, don't you think?"   
  
Sherlock thought back to the lab at St. Bart's, how John immediately peaked his interest when he walked through the doors, how he whispered 'amazing' upon hearing Sherlock explain his deductions in the cab, how John killed for him the next day.   
  
"They're perfect." He whispered. He released John's hand and instead reached around his shoulder to pull him into a small hug. "Shall we take them, dear?"   
  
“Yes. Definitely." John smiled; at least Sherlock thought he was only acting.   
  
Milano smiled at the two and pulled out their selection. He placed each in a velvet case before ringing them up.   
  
"I'll cut you a special deal on these pieces, just for you two," Milano said, taking Sherlock's card and finalising the purchase.   
  
Two minutes later, they were walking out the door and down the street. It was then a thought occurred to Sherlock that he thought John might want to address.   
  
"Umm, John? How do you want to...? Do you want to gift each other the rings? I don't know if that matters to you..." They didn't have a ceremony after all and John seemed fine about that. Perhaps he didn't want to make too much a deal out of giving each other their rings.   
  
John shrugged. "How about we go out to dinner tonight and exchange them then?" John's imagination was running away with itself as he thought of Sherlock down on one knee, tears streaming down his face as he asked John to be his forever... John shook away the thought. "Angelo's?"   
  
Sherlock’s mind flitted to their first case together, and let himself smile at John's sentimentality. "Yes, Angelo's would be a very appropriate choice given the circumstances. I'm sure the man himself will be more than pleased to host our special event," Sherlock said with a wink. "So Angelo's at 8 it is. I'll make the reservations, but you, dear, need to get yourself a tux. No harm in getting dressed up for our special occasion, don't you think?"   
  
"I have a tux." John admitted "It's somewhere in the back of my wardrobe. I'll dig it out. Just for you." Then, without quite knowing why, John stood up on his toes and pressed his lips to Sherlock's. It was a brief, chaste kiss. Exactly the sort a married couple would exchange. With a sideways glance at Sherlock, John noticed he looked as shocked as John felt.   
  
Sherlock hadn't been expecting that. It was short, he should have barely felt it, but yet it sent sparks coursing through his system. It was... nice. Wait, what was he supposed to do now? Should he kiss John back? A husband would, right? Sherlock couldn't think so instead he wrapped an arm around John's waist and continued walking.   
  
"We should discuss the case, when we get back at the flat," Sherlock said after a few minutes of casual strolling. They would need to plan out the next steps for drawing out the killer.   
  
John nodded. He'd almost completely forgotten this was for a case. Sherlock Holmes didn't really love him. _Great_. Still, Sherlock's arm around him felt more right than anything in the world and John decided he should enjoy it while he could. And if he could convince Sherlock to keep up the act even when they were alone... That would be wonderful.   
  
They reached 221B eventually, after a long yet comfortable silence, and John let go of Sherlock. "How long do you think it'll take until he comes for us? And how do you know it'll be us?"   
  
"If we play this right, we'll probably become targets within the next two weeks. We'll simply be too good to resist." Sherlock explained briefly. Despite arguing otherwise, it was true he always enjoyed throwing in a bit of drama, especially since John seemed to enjoy it when he did so. In all serious though, Sherlock had been carefully profiling his latest target. The killer was targeting homosexuals, specifically married ones. As of late, his victims have been nobodies, just normal couples living about their dull lives. But his last hit showed that he was becoming bolder, more aggressive. Vicious notes were left in blood, and corpses were found out in the open. He wanted more attention, and it was likely he would go after a more high profile couple next. All that John and Sherlock had to do in order to get his attention was to be that high profile couple. Get married and use Sherlock's reputation to boost them into the limelight. After that it was a matter of chance. But John didn't need to know all that right now. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all your kudos and kind words on the last chapter! I'll hopefully be updating every day. I've got the whole thing written so I promise it won't get abandoned halfway through.
> 
> For more of my writing, you can go to [**thelizlanganblog.tumblr.com**](http://thelizlanganblog.tumblr.com)


	5. "You are far more useful to me alive."

  
  
They made their way up to the flat, where Sherlock fled to his chair and John headed to the kitchen to make tea. He stared after the blond doctor for a bit, smiling as he moved efficiently around the kitchen, pulling out the sugar for Sherlock, though John preferred his own tea without. John really was too good for him. Sherlock sighed and fell into his 'thinking pose', closing the world out and letting his thoughts reign free.   
  
John could feel Sherlock's eyes on him as he bustled about the kitchen. Two more weeks of this?!? It was like 14 Christmases had come at once. He knew there was something Sherlock wasn't telling him but he trusted the man ( _for some reason_ ) and knew that Sherlock would tell him eventually. John sauntered back into the sitting room, disappointed when Sherlock tore his gaze away. "Have you made a booking in Angelo's yet?" John asked, making light conversation, though he knew Sherlock hadn't. John really was trying not to stare but he couldn't find a good reason to tear his gaze away; nothing in this flat was good enough to look at instead of at Sherlock.   
  
  
"Yes, this is Sherlock Holmes. I need to make a reservation for eight tonight. It's a special occasion. I'm, um, proposing… so to speak." _Why am I nervous? We're already married, it's just a formality_. The server on the other end confirmed their reservation and said Angelo would take care of everything. Excellent. Now he just needed to arrange for some post-event publicity. He was sure one of Mycroft's men could be stationed in the restaurant to snap a picture and get it to interested newspapers. He sent his dear brother a quick text and then strode back into the living room, ready to brief John on his plan.   
  
John was beaming as Sherlock re-entered the sitting room. He'd overheard Sherlock's side of the phone conversation. Sherlock was nervous. Maybe he- _No. No, of course he didn't. Married to his work, remember John?_ The smile faltered at this thought. "Well?" He asked, pretending nothing was wrong.   
  
"All set," The detective replied, before returning to his chair. "We should we make sure we're ready to leave by seven thirty. That leaves us with about eight hours to kill. If you have any questions concerning the case, it may be best to ask them now. After tonight we need to behave like we're under close watch."   
  
_After tonight?_ John's heart plummeted. "Maybe... Maybe we should stay in character today. So we're used to it and don't forget something when it matters?"   
  
"Of course John, no harm in getting a head start," Sherlock sent him a wink. He would have to watch himself to make sure he didn't get too out of hand with his flirting, but making John flustered was very entertaining.   
  
John stammered. Right. Case questions. "How do you know he'll pick us?" John asked, worry suddenly hitting him like a tonne of bricks.   
  
"We'll make ourselves too good to resist. Our killer is becoming bolder. He wants to be noticed, and what better way to do that then to move up to slaughtering a well-known couple. Well, at least a better known than his previous victims. We'll use my publicity to catch his attention. Anything else?" He asked. He could at least try to give John as much information as to make him comfortable with the situation. It was quite obvious John wasn't ecstatic at the prospect of being bait.   
  
John shrugged. He patted the seat beside him. "Come here." He said. Sherlock said down and John could almost taste the confusion flowing from him. The older man kicked his shoes off and curled up, leaning into Sherlock with a contented sigh. "I know you think I'm not happy with this plan but I know it's the only thing that'll work. I'm just afraid you'll get hurt." John admitted softly, taking in the taller man's scent.   
  
Sherlock felt the warmth radiating from John's body. The contact felt natural, like this was how they were supposed to be...he frowned, remembering that this was all temporary. He took one lanky arm and wrapped it around John's shoulder, pulling him in just a little bit closer.   
  
_Safe_...   
  
"You're always afraid I'll get hurt. It's a hazard that comes with the job though, and you can't tell me that you don't stick around for the sense of danger you feel when on a case with me."   
  
John chuckled. "I stay around for a lot more than that, darling. I don't worry about myself getting hurt. You're far more important." He sighed heavily, content to finally be able say what he was thinking, even if Sherlock thought he was only acting.   
  
Sherlock tried to suppress the blood that was quickly flooding his cheeks. "You shouldn't think like that, John. You are equally, if not more important. I don't want you to think that you should ever have to throw your life away for me. You are far more useful to me alive." Sherlock looked away, concealing his red face, pretending to be interested in the various knick-knacks on the mantelpiece. If this is what he had to look forward to for the next two weeks, it was going to be hell on his self-control.   
  
John giggled, then stopped himself, horrified at how unmanly he was. "I'm going to quote you on that." John grinned at him. "Next time you start the death threats."   
  
Sherlock turned and flashed John a wicked grin, He leaned in so that his lips brushed the edge of John's ear "I'm sure I can threaten you with other things." He pecked a quick kiss to John's cheek while the blonde man was still flustered and strode over to the window to grab his violin. _I need to distract myself. That was too close. But it felt amazing to tease John like that_. Gradually, one of Mozart's concertos began to fill the room.   
  
John sat frozen. Sherlock Holmes had been flirting with him. Sherlock Holmes had been _flirting_ with him. _Sherlock Holmes_ had been... He was still trying to remember how to breathe when the man began to play his violin, his wonderfully skilful fingers dancing to create a masterpiece of sound. John sank back into the couch and sighed. He didn't think his heart would be able to take it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all your kudos and kind words on the last chapter! I'll hopefully be updating every day. I've got the whole thing written so I promise it won't get abandoned halfway through.
> 
> For more of my writing, you can go to [**thelizlanganblog.tumblr.com**](http://thelizlanganblog.tumblr.com)


	6. "Please don't leave me John."

Sherlock stopped playing his instrument about five hours later. They had two hours left to get ready and leave for Angelo's. He lowered his instrument and gazed about the room, but realized that John was no longer present. _Must have gone out for a bit_. he thought. He looked towards the kitchen where his equipment from an earlier experiment lay. _Perhaps I have time to run a few more tests before we leave_.  
  
Just as Sherlock sat down at the table, John appeared in the doorway with grocery bags. "I'm home, love." He said, greeting Sherlock with a kiss to the cheek as natural as if he'd been doing it all his life. "Want to help me put the shopping away in the fr-" He opened the fridge door as he said this and was greeted with a sorry sight. "And just how many human thighs do you think you'll need, Sherlock? Was all of Britain's enough?"  
  
"Don't be ridiculous John," he scoffed, not looking up from his work examining bacteria colonies under a microscope. "I would have preferred twenty, but unfortunately I could only fit five in our fridge. I suppose I'll have to observe them in sets." His cheek burned from the kiss, but he was attempting to play it off as natural. They were married; it wasn't supposed to be a big deal.  
  
John sighed. "You know most people use fridges for food. Not body parts." He noticed the flush on Sherlock's cheeks. He knew it was probably just the heat of the room but allowed himself a moment in the fantasy that Sherlock was as in love with John as the good doctor was with him.  
  
"Ah, well. I'm not most people. I assume if you had a problem with that you would have left long before now." _He should have left long before now... Why hasn't he?_  
  
John froze. "Are you asking me to?" He said in a small voice. Sherlock couldn't. He couldn't. They were married. Even if this was just for a case, it had to mean something.   
  
Sherlock's head whipped up and he looked over to where John stood meekly by the fridge. "What? No? Stop being an idiot, John," He turned back to his work, twisting a few dials on his microscope in an attempt to look busy. _Please don't leave me John_.  
  
Colour flooded back into John's face and he let out the breath he hadn't known he was holding. "Good. I have nowhere to go, you know. So you're kind of stuck with me." He shrugged. "Plus, we're married. We have to stay together for the kids." He joked. Then he glanced at Sherlock. "If you keep messing with those dials you're going to break the damn thing. You know I know when you're only pretending to be busy."  
  
"Then you know too much then," he said glancing up to look at the clock. "We should start getting ready soon. I believe we are both in need of a shower." He said, sniffing and scrunching his nose to emphasise.  
  
John laughed. "What are you going to do? Kill me?" He teased, leaving the kitchen momentarily to fetch a towel from the hot press. He re-entered the room and smiled fondly at Sherlock. His _husband_.  
  
"No, that would be too simple," Sherlock said with a smirk, grabbing the towel from John's hand. "It could be fun, however, to get you to beg for mercy.” He winked and stepped into the bathroom, shutting the door quickly behind him.  
  
 _What the hell was that?! Control yourself. John will run off if you keep this up_. As he continued to berate himself, he stripped himself of his clothes and stepped under the shower, letting the hot water wash away his worries for the time being.  
  
John stared after Sherlock. Only after the water had started running, John blinked back into himself. "That was my towel." He groaned aloud to the empty flat. He fetched another and sauntered up to his own shower.  
  
 *******  
  
Sherlock stepped into the kitchen around twenty past seven; ten minutes to spare before they left for Angelo's. "John!" he shouted up the stairs. "Are you almost ready?" He reached into his jacket pocket to make sure the case with John's ring was still in place.  
  
John stepped out from the sitting room into Sherlock's line of sight. "No need to shout, love. I've been waiting here for ages." He was dressed smartly in a suit with a dark purple tie. He'd had a feeling Sherlock would wear the infamous purple shirt and he’d wanted to match. He'd been right. Studying Sherlock, he wondered how much of the time the man had spent in the bathroom was focused solely on his hair. To John, it looked even more delicately messily perfect than usual. Sherlock's putting in an effort. Though it only took him a second to realise he'd put in even more of one. He hadn't worn this suit since Sherlock's fun- He shook the thought away, smiling at the handsome man in front of him.  
  
Sherlock's brain stopped functioning properly for a split second as John stepped into the threshold of the kitchen. He looked... good. Better than good. He must have had the suit fitted, because it was currently doing an excellent job accentuating John's broad chest. And his arse... _Argh stop it!_ Sherlock shook his head to clear his thoughts before reaching over to grab their coats from the rack. He quickly swung on his Belstaff before helping John into his. "Shall we?" he asked, offering John his elbow.  
  
John chuckled, wrapping his arm around Sherlock's with a kiss to his cheek. He made sure his husband's ring was in his pocket and then smiled up at the man. "Did you ask for our window table, darling?" He said softly with a memory-sweetened smile.  
  
Sherlock scoffed as they began to make their way downstairs and out the door. "Where else would we sit? That's our table after all, I doubt Angelo would allow it any other way." As they stepped out onto the path, he raised one hand high into the air to signal a cab. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all your kudos and kind words on the last chapter! I'll hopefully be updating every day. I've got the whole thing written so I promise it won't get abandoned halfway through.
> 
> For more of my writing, you can go to [**thelizlanganblog.tumblr.com**](http://thelizlanganblog.tumblr.com)


	7. "You wouldn't know flirting if it slapped you in the face with a wet fish."

A black car stopped immediately thanks to Sherlock's cab-magnet power. John unravelled his arm from Sherlock's and slid into the back seat. As the man took his place beside him, John threaded his fingers through Sherlock's. They had two more weeks of flaunting their love (well John's love and Sherlock's far too realistic acting), then back to normality. Awful, terrible, not-married-to-Sherlock normality. But, for now, John had Sherlock's hand in his and he was determined to enjoy it. No one said he couldn't do that.   
  
The cab pulled up outside of Angelo's and Sherlock flew out, leaving John, once more, to pay the fare. He stood by the door and held it for John, following in closely behind him. The waitress at the door took their coats and escorted them to their table, which they were told had been prepared courtesy of Angelo. A white tablecloth flowed over the top of the table and down to the floor. In the middle was an arrangement of candles, three of different sizes, housed in glass holders. Next to the candles rested an ice bucket, holding a bottle of expensive white wine. Their usual spots had already been set with a pair of china plates, wine glasses, and silverware. "Do you think he's overdone it?" Sherlock teased, leaning over as if he was whispering a secret.   
  
John glanced at Sherlock, blushing slightly. Was now the wrong time to say he actually liked the extravagance? _Probably_. So he said nothing, sitting down in his usual seat with a nervous smile. He picked up a menu which had been redesigned since John was last here (though a glance around at the other customers confirmed this had just been done for John and Sherlock) and flicked through, already knowing he was going to get his usual but needing something to do to delay the awkward conversation that was surely to come. He was with Sherlock after all. The man was not known for his dating skills.   
  
Sherlock sat down and kept a calm demeanor, but inside his mind a storm of questions was raging on. _What do I do now? What do I usually do now? Usually John eats, and I think or watch John eat. Irrelevant. This occasion is suppose to be different, special. I need to give John attention. How do I do that? Compliments? Yes. People compliment each other on dates and the like. We'll start there_.   
  
Sherlock looked over to John and scanned the man from head to toe, looking for something he could praise him on. He cleared his throat and put forward the first thing to enter his mind. "Um. You look nice.." _That was awkward. Why was that awkward? Probably should have said that back at the house_.   
  
John glanced up from the menu. "Thank you. It's been a while since I've worn..." He trailed off. Sherlock's death was not a good topic for their wedding dinner. "So do you. Though you always do. I mean ..." _Shut up, shut up, shut up! You're an idiot, Watson, he'll find out!_ John coughed. "So do you." He said resolutely. Then he grinned. He was on a date with Sherlock Holmes. _I may as well have some fun with this_. "So," he said, a devilishly flirtatious grin spreading on his face. "Do you come here often?"   
  
Sherlock quirked an eyebrow at John. "I only ever come here with you, so you should be able to answer that question yourself." He returned to skimming through the menu. He wasn't hungry, but it would make John happy to see him eat. Might as well get something that might prove edible.   
  
John chuckled, rolling his eyes. "My God, Sherlock Holmes. You wouldn't know flirting if it slapped you in the face with a wet fish." He closed the menu. "You will eat something for me, love, won't you?"   
  
Sherlock blushed, realizing his naivety. "I knew that.." he mumbled, hiding his face behind his menu. "It's a special night, I suppose I can afford to eat a little. The Penne dish looks appealing."   
  
John chuckled at him again, placing his hand over one of Sherlock's. "You're brilliant, love. Thank you."   
  
Now that both menus were closed, a waiter (thankfully not Angelo himself) approached them. After ordering for both of them, to ensure Sherlock didn't chicken out and not eat at all, John sat back comfortably in his seat. He had no idea what to say. This was the part of the date where the girl would usually ask him about Sherlock Holmes and he'd have to defend him fiercely ( _"No, he's not a freak, he's brilliant!"_ ) or he'd end up ranting about him for hours ( _"...And you should see the state of my fridge. Bodily organs everywhere."_ ). Without the ability to talk about the man that was ( _finally_ ) on a date with him, he was kind of at a loss.   
  
_This feels awkward_ , Sherlock chided himself. _Is it suppose to be this awkward? No. It makes us seem like a new couple; we're suppose to be married. I'll have to break the ice_.   
  
"So, John, would you care for some wine? 1947, it appears. Angelo went all out." _Yes. Offer him wine. Brilliant_...   
  
"I... Thank you." This was not good. This was a 'first date', not a married couple out for dinner. John watched as Sherlock poured the pale liquid into his glass. When it was full, he held up the glass. "To us." John said grinning. "To marriage. To forever." John smiled at Sherlock, trying to get that new-love twinkle from his eyes. Though most couples still twinkle on their wedding night. _Wedding night_. John sighed. He supposed they wouldn't be sharing a bed. Though if the killer studied them... John realised Sherlock had already tipped the doctor's glass against his own and was staring at him with a frown. "We should share a bed." John blurted out. Then he froze and went bright red. "I mean, only if you want- If you wouldn't be uncomfortable. Just in case the guy manages to set up cameras in the flat." He mumbled, downing his drink out of embarrassment and fixing his gaze on his suddenly fascinating cutlery. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all your kudos and kind words on the last chapter! I'll hopefully be updating every day. I've got the whole thing written so I promise it won't get abandoned halfway through.
> 
> For more of my writing, you can go to [**thelizlanganblog.tumblr.com**](http://thelizlanganblog.tumblr.com)


	8. "I wonder, my dear Holmes, when you actually began to care.”

Sherlock almost choked on his wine. "Ah, eh." He spluttered before finding himself. "Yes, of course. Good thinking, John. It would keep us on the safe side. Though we shouldn't have his attention until tomorrow at the earliest. But we shouldn't speak too much of it out in the open. We can establish rules tonight for... sleeping. Although I won't be doing much of it. " Sherlock planned on spending most of the nights of this case putting together clues and planning ways of catching their target. Sleeping wouldn't be a priority.

John tried not to look disappointed. He had really been looking forwards to curling up around Sherlock, feeling the man relax beneath him, and both of them drift off to sleep. Sex with Sherlock had never even crossed his mind. _Well, not never_. John shook the thought from his head. "I just mean for sleeping. I wouldn't… want to do anything else." John managed to lie smoothly to Sherlock's face, though he avoided eye contact for maximum believability.

Sherlock felt a twinge of disappointment. _Why am I disappointed? Of course he wouldn't want to do anything besides sleep. He's not like that. It wasn't like I was hoping for something else… Was I?_ Sherlock didn't even remember the last sexual encounter he had. It had probably been unsatisfactory so he had chosen to delete it.

"Well, right then. I guess we have an understanding," he replied, taking another sip of wine.

One awkward silence later, a team of servers came and laid out their dishes. The smell was appetizing. _Perhaps I'll be able to eat more than a few bites. Then maybe John won't bug me about eating for the next week. Excellent plan_ , he praised himself, lifting one fork of steaming pasta into his mouth.

John, as subtly as he could, watched Sherlock eat. It was such a rare and pleasant sight to see the man consuming food that John almost forgot to eat himself. After hurriedly swallowing his first mouthful, he suddenly remembered one thing that had been playing on his mind for years; "You never explained how you solved one of your cases to me. Which is odd, considering how you love to brag." He teased. At least they could talk about work for a few minutes until a better topic arose. "The hiker and the backfire. How did he die?"

Sherlock put down his fork and dabbed at the sauce around his mouth with his napkin. "Accident," he replied, wondering why John even still thought about that case and taking a sip of his wine. "Preliminary reports told us the victim was a sportsman, runner in fact, recently returned from a trip to Australia based on his passport stamps. Everyone else assumes he was out bird watching, but that wasn't it. Our sportsman had come back with a souvenir. Think you can figure out what it was?" Sherlock asked, leaning forward to place his elbows on the table and his chin on top of his folded hands. One of the reasons he valued John was for his intelligence. He wasn't quite at Sherlock's level, but he was at least above the idiots from the Yard. As such, Sherlock knew John had it in him to develop his own powers of deduction.

_Show me what you've learned, John_.

John frowned in concentration. "Right." He said, thinking over what Sherlock had said. _Sportsperson, Australia, watching the sky_...

"He was killed by his own boomerang?" John looked at Sherlock, hoping to see the spark of pride in his eyes that he loved so much.

Sherlock couldn't hide his pleased smile when John arrived at the correct conclusion. "Very good, John," he praised. "He had been watching the skies, scanning for his boomerang when he was distracted by the noise of the car backfiring. The boomerang came back, hitting him square on the back of the head, and landing in the stream where it was washed away. It explains the blunt force trauma and why we couldn't find evidence of another person in the area, aside from the driver of course."

John beamed back at Sherlock, lapping up the rare pride the other man exuded. "You got all that from what you managed to see through my laptop camera?" John asked, wonderstruck. "Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant."

Sherlock's cheeks tinged pink as he look down and began prodding at his food. He had never quite gotten use to John's enthusiasm when it came to his work. He had been the first person to call him 'amazing' as opposed to punching him in the face or telling him to piss off. If it hadn't been for John's awe-filled words of encouragement, who knew where Sherlock would be now. _Probably have gotten myself killed by that cabbie_. He snorted at his own inside joke.

John frowned, looking up, unsure what had caused such an unsherlockian sound to come from, well, Sherlock. "Are you ok?" He asked, concerned lilting in his voice.

"Never better," Sherlock shot out, meaning it to come out friendlier than it actually did. _I need to distract him_ , thought Sherlock. "How have things been going at the hospital?"

John laughed. "I wonder, my dear Holmes, when you actually began to care. But I'll humour you." He took another bite of his meal, contemplating his answer. "It's going well. I mean, the people aren't, but it's interesting and enjoyable and -" _and it's nothing like being with you, even something as mundane as dinner gives me infinitely more pleasure than anything I could do without you_. "- and I like it."

"Good. That's, um, very good then." _This is dull. I'll never understand how other people should live such mundane lives. John's different though, he craves the adventure. Interesting and enjoyable my arse/ _.__

John rolled his eyes. "Well don't ask if you don't care, love." He said, with more fondness than sternness. What do I talk about now? Come on, Watson; you're supposedly good at this. "What happens if your father find out about this? About us?" John knew both Sherlock's parents, especially his father, were extremely conservative and anti-LGBT+ in all and any of its forms. "I mean, we're trying to make this a big deal so there's a good chance he will find out."

Sherlock lowered his gaze and took up a sudden fascination with the table cloth. He honestly hadn't considered his parents' opinions in this matter, primarily because, excluding their run-in with his mother that morning, he had not seen either of them in over a decade. "We've already met Mummy and she doesn't seem to care, no surprise there really. As for Father... He'll likely just continue to deny my existence," he spoke in a joking manner, hoping his answers would be enough to satisfy John. In all honesty the reaction of his father could be just as he suggested, or possibly a end up with a very unpleasant father-son reunion. His back stiffened at the memories.

John frowned. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have brought it up." He paused. "Your mother seemed so lovely about it. There's no chance your father will be ok with it?" He asked hopefully. He knew he had nothing to worry about; his parents had been as accepting of Harry's sexuality as anyone could ever want. And, although they were now relying on John for grandchildren, he knew they'd understand.

"Let's just say I would not want to be in his presence the moment he found out." Sherlock spoke in barely a whisper. He looked up at John with eyes that were begging for a change of topic. Something, anything to distract him from thoughts of the past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all your kudos and kind words on the last chapter! I'll hopefully be updating every day. I've got the whole thing written so I promise it won't get abandoned halfway through.
> 
> For more of my writing, you can go to [ **thelizlanganblog.tumblr.com**](http://thelizlanganblog.tumblr.com)


	9. "Yes. Yes of course I will you buffoon."

"You know Mycroft's newest diet has failed? He gained four pounds in the last three weeks." John knew teasing Mycroft was the was best way to get Sherlock in an instant good mood. That and murder.  
  
Sherlock let out a small chuckle. "I don't suppose anyone told him cake wasn't included as a meal option." He joked.  
  
John grinned. "It may have been due to the fact that I sent him cupcakes anonymously every day." He said proudly.  
  
Sherlock looked at John with a combination of shock and admiration written across his face. "My, my, John Watson, you just never cease to surprise me." Sherlock let loose a uncharacteristic giggle when he imagined the look on Mycroft's face when he received each cupcake. If he could count on John for anything, it would be for making him smile.  
  
John's heart leapt at Sherlock's sound of unadulterated pleasure. He had to mentally restrain himself so he didn't kiss the man right there. _He doesn't love me. This is an act_. And a wonderful act it was; John hated the thought of returning to normal after an experience like this.  
  
The sound of a quiet melody reached, Sherlock's ears, and he took it as his cue to get to the main event of the night. He slipped one hand into his pocket and fiddled with the velvet box, trying to think of what next to say.  
  
"John, I wanted to tell you that you have changed my life so much, and all for the better. Before you I was alone and seemingly on a path of self-destruction. You saved me in more ways than one that night you shot the cabbie, and I will never forget that. You have been my doctor, my blogger, my companion, and ultimately my friend through many adventures and I hope that we may share many more in the future, but I want to change one thing." At this point he pulled out the case and presented it in front of him. "John Hamish Watson, will you do me the honor of letting me call you my husband?"  
  
John felt tears catch in his throat. He knew Sherlock was acting; the real Sherlock would never say such a thing but the words were still music to his ears. "Yes. Yes of course I will you buffoon." He chuckled, blinking back tears as he held his hand out to Sherlock to the man could place the ring on his finger. _I should've gone first. I can't top that!_  
  
Sherlock gingerly slid the ring on to John's finger, letting his hand linger for a few second longer than necessary. Enough time for Mycroft's men to get a picture. He was pleased at the reaction he elicited from John, and couldn't help but lift the ring-adorned hand to his lips to press a brief kiss to those calloused knuckles. He lowered the hand and looked up through his lashes at John's face. _Your move, John_.  
  
John didn't care if Sherlock was acting. Now was his chance to tell Sherlock how he felt with no fear of rejection. He took his ring-box from his pocket and gripped it tightly.  
  
"Sherlock Holmes." He began, sounding as grand as one could sound saying a name like _Sherlock_. "I love you. Now that I think about it, I've always loved you. It would explain why I never left you, despite the heads in my fridge or the sulking or three AM violin screechings. I want you to be by my side forever and I want everyone to know that you're mine. I want to give you this ring as a promise that even if I never get to tell you in words or in actions that I love you again, I will always be thinking it. Always. I want to never have to say no to a candle at dinner again. I want to wake up in the morning with your breath tickling my ear. I want to walk into the next B &B we have to stay in for a case and say 'A double room, please. For me and my husband.' I want you to be mine forever."  
  
Only after his speech did John dare to look at Sherlock's face, having fixed his gaze on their still joined hands for the entire time he talked.  
  
Sherlock was shocked. That speech, John's actions, they had all been so... _genuine_. Murmuring a few terms of endearment, placing a few affectionate gestures here and there, those could be faked by anyone. But that speech, the look in John's eyes as he waited eagerly for Sherlock's response, those were sincere. _Have I been wrong?_ Sherlock realized he didn't have any more time to contemplate as John was starting to look worried. Instead he grasped John's hand, leaned in, and placed a tender kiss on his husband's lips.  
  
John froze momentarily as Sherlock's lips met his before he realised they were supposed to be a nearly-married couple. He relaxed into the kiss, pressing back gently. He broke after a moment. "I take it that's a yes, then?" John said with a grin, taking out the ring box and placing it on the table. _What if Sherlock knew? What if that speech was from far too close to my heart?_ John found he didn't actually care anymore. If Sherlock knew then Sherlock knew. The man couldn't reject him for the next two weeks anyhow. It would all turn out fine. 


	10. "Just as you are."

"Yes," Sherlock replied, grinning from ear to ear, but he was sure he was still too close to John's face for him to notice. He leaned back in for another peck before sitting back in his chair, leaving his hand out so that John could slide on the ring.   
  
John knew the kissing, the smiles, the rings were all just poses for the press. But he could picture a world where he really was the husband of Mr Sherlock Holmes. He took of the ring, so similar to the one now residing on his own finger, and slid it onto Sherlock's left hand with a smile and a kiss, as his husband had done, to the albeit softer and paler skin of Sherlock's hand.   
  
Sherlock sat back and couldn't keep the smile off his face. John was being honest. He has always been a terrible actor, there's no way that he could have been lying just then. _That means_... Sherlock couldn't even think it out of fear that he could jinx everything. He had been with a few people in the past and he could remember having the same exact thoughts, only to have it turn out that he was being used or even abused in one particular case. _John's different though, isn't he? He wouldn't do something like that. Besides we've already been friends for quite some time. I can trust him_.   
  
Sherlock was interrupted from his thoughts by a round of applause as a group of waiters came, parting so that Angelo himself could walk through and place a small cake on the table.   
  
John blushed red at the audience. He could tell by the way Sherlock was looking at him that the man suspected something and was trying to deduce if it were true. John hoped to distract him with cake. "Would you like a slice, love?" He asked, eyes fixed on the tiered delight.   
  
"So long as this isn't part of an elaborate plot to fatten me up, then yes. I could eat a small slice," Sherlock answered. Honestly the cake didn't appeal to him all that much, but he didn't want to ruin the mood.   
  
"Why would I want to fatten you up?" John protested with a grin. "I like you just as you are." Despite the fact that Sherlock was slightly too slim to be perfectly healthy, John had always let it slide. The man ate well sometimes and that was good enough for John.   
  
Sherlock shrugged his shoulders as he took a bite out of his piece of dessert, trying his best to ignore John's obvious flirting. "Not sure. You could be working as a double agent, tormenting Mycroft while at the same time attempting to balance the scales. Not that you would ever be able to do so. I still plan on maintaining my current diet."   
  
John rolled his eyes. "I'm never going to be on Mycroft's side, Lock. Only yours." He promised. He took a forkful of cake and tasted it. "This is amazing."   
  
Sherlock hummed in agreement. Angelo probably made it himself, he thought, smiling as the cake practically melted on his tongue.   
  
"Angelo's a great cook." John said, practically reading his husband's mind. "Really, eh, great. Yeah." He coughed slightly awkwardly.   
  
John's flustered behaviour warmed Sherlock's core. He looked down and saw that both were done with their meals, and most of the other customers were starting to leave. "We'd probably best be going soon. We don't want to keep the staff here too long."   
  
John nodded. "Yeah. It's been a long day." He set his knife and fork down and asked for the bill. 


	11. “Do you really believe that this is just an act?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains a lot of cursing. *shakes head disapprovingly at John*

Twenty minutes later the two men found themselves trudging up the stairs to their flat. Sherlock waltzed in and removed his coat and scarf, tossing them unceremoniously onto the sofa. The entire cab ride home he had been processing John's behavior at the restaurant and had finally come to the conclusion that John honestly had feelings for him. _Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth_ …  
  
John had been very quiet the whole way home. He knew Sherlock was thinking and didn't want to disturb but... _What is he thinking about?_ "Thank you for a wonderful evening." John said softly as they entered the flat. "I'm going to go to bed pretty much immediately. Your bedroom or mine?"  
  
 _Time for action_. "Your pick, Dr. Watson-Holmes," Sherlock purred, treading slowly towards the weary soldier. "Where would you like this night to end?"  
  
John took a step back. "We can drop the act, Sherlock, no-one's here." He whimpered, trying to resist the urge to throw himself at the other man. "And I suppose your room is more practical and..." He trailed off.  
  
"Oh, John. Do you really expect me to believe that this is still an act? Do you really believe that this is just an act?" His last question was almost a whisper, afraid that he was revealing too much too quickly. _What if I was wrong? What if this isn't what John wants?_  
  
"For you. Yes." John said and then covered his mouth with his hand. _Crap. Shit. Tits. Balls. Me and my bloody fucking mouth. Argh!_  
  
John's outburst told Sherlock two things. Firstly, John definitely hadn't been acting. Secondly, he didn't think Sherlock liked him back. The second one was understandable. Wrong, but it wasn't as if Sherlock had been displaying his feelings out in the open.  
  
He took another tentative step forward, attempting to catch John's eyes, though the other man seemed determined to look at anything but Sherlock. "John. What would you do if I, um, said it wasn't entirely one-sided?" There. He said it. Sort of. Now was the moment of truth. _Am I really risking this?_  
  
John froze.  
  
 _Wait._  
  
 _What?_  
  
 _WHAT?_  
  
 _No really, what?_  
  
John realised Sherlock was waiting for an answer. "I... I suppose I would've asked you to marry me, but it's too late for that." He joked. "I'd probably, um, kiss you." He went even redder. The floor had never looked so interesting.  
  
Sherlock grinned in amusement. _Ah, good. He's not freaking out, just getting flustered_.  
  
"Then why aren't you?" Sherlock was fighting to keep his breathing steady. Despite all the facts that were screaming at him- _John loves you! You love him, idiot_ \- he couldn't help but terrified of the unknown path he was stepping on to. This was no longer acting, this was real. He was opening himself up and risking it all just for one person. _John_.  
  
“Why am I not what?” John asked, with a slight frown. Surely he couldn’t mean… _No. No, of course not_.  
  
Sherlock groaned in exasperation. "For god's sake, John. I know you're not this obtuse. Why aren't you kissing me?" That last part came out it a barely audible mumble.  
  
John raised an eyebrows. "Well, that's easily rectified." He said softly. He smiled. "My lips are right here, Sherlock." He said, wrapping his arms around Sherlock's neck.  
  
The detective’s heart was pounding in his chest. This had been what he had been going for, so why was he so nervous? John was looking up at him, darting his tongue out to wet his lips like he usually did when he was anxious. Sherlock bobbed his head forward, pulling back as if he still wasn't sure, before slowly - oh so slowly - pressing his lips to John's. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So um yeah. That happened. I promise it won't get boring after this.
> 
> Thanks for all your kind words and Kudoseses. Your feedback is actually the highlight of my day (yes, I'm _that_ sad). Anyway, see you all tomorrow!!


	12. “There’s always something, after all."

John's heart was racing, pounding, running a marathon... He pressed back ever so softly so as not to startle Sherlock, standing up on his toes to even the height field. _I'm kissing Sherlock Holmes. Jesus Christ. I'm kissing Sherlock Bloody Holmes_.  
  
Sherlock couldn’t believe how amazing it felt. Better than the kiss at the restaurant. He felt a thrill run down his spine as John pressed back, similar to the one he felt after solving a case. His arms began moving on their own, coming to rest on John's waist.  
  
 _John has my heart. There's no going back now._  
  
John pulled away softly. "I meant it. All of it." He paused. "But you know that. You wouldn't've done this if you thought I didn't... I love you." John blurted out. He hastily removed his hands from Sherlock's neck and shrank away, embarrassed.  
  
Sherlock watched him pull away, slightly confused and worried. "Of course I knew. You were never that good of an actor, John."  
  
John huffed, only half annoyed (and even then, more at himself than his flatmate - _husband_ -). "I... You... I'm going to bed. Goodnight, eh, love." Though the use of endearment embarrassed him now. Why the hell had he gone and kissed Sherlock Holmes?  
  
( _Watson-Holmes_ , his mind reminded him.)  
  
He huffed again and went into the bathroom.  
  
Sherlock watched in confusion as John locked himself into the tiny room. _Did I mess up? He didn't seem angry. I don't understand. This is tedious, I'll deal with it in the morning_.  
  
The taller man sighed and strode towards his bedroom, walking in and closing the door quietly behind him. Over by the wardrobe he carefully began removing his formal attire before stepping into a pair of silk pajama trousers.  
  
John knocked on the door a few minutes later. “Sherlock? I hope it’s not too much to ask, but we probably should still share a bed. For the case.” He added hastily. He really wasn’t sure about this. “But if you don’t want to… That’s fine. I completely understand. I…” _Stop talking, John_.  
  
 _This is getting tedious… and awkward_... Sherlock thought, plodding over to the door to let John in. Even before he realized John _actually_ had feelings for him, he had been planning on letting the doctor sleep in his bed while he himself stayed up working. But now, Sherlock found himself yawning as he reached for the door, mentally exhausted from today's 'emotional' events. _Another reason sentiment is a weakness..it can take such a toll on the brain..._  
  
"Come on in, John," he said, stepping back with the door to let the other man through. The smell of shampoo and body wash ( _Honey_?) rose up as John walked by and Sherlock found it pleasantly relaxing.  
  
"Thanks." John took a step in and closed the door behind him. He looked at Sherlock. "Are you going to sleep?" He asked, confused at the sight of Sherlock in pyjamas. _At least he's not_... "Don't you usually sleep naked? I mean, I'm glad you're not. Well not glad. I... I'll shut up now."  
  
"I knew you would be stopping by and I figured you would be more comfortable if I was clothed," he commented, quirking an eyebrow at John's babbling. He found himself stifling back another yawn as he tried to contemplate the best course of action. "It's unfortunate, but I do seem to succumbing to my more primitive needs. However, I can sleep in the chair. I suspect I'll only need a few hours," he said, gesturing to the small armchair in the far corner of his room.  
  
"I'm fine with sharing." John muttered. He glanced at the bed and, after only a brief hesitation, he climbed in. He fixed his gaze on Sherlock.  
  
Sherlock met John's gaze for a moment, and then quickly diverted it to the floor. "Right. Sharing it is." He walked around to the other side of the bed and slid in, allowing for a vast amount of space to lay between him and the blonde enigma in front of him. He rolled over so that he was facing away from his doctor and flicked one hand out to turn off the lamp on the nightstand. He stared into the darkness focusing his thoughts on trying to explain John's behaviour. He could think of nothing and the world know with an irritated huff.  
  
John glared at the gap between them. Knowing he really shouldn't attempt to close it, he turned away from Sherlock and closed his eyes. At the man's noise of annoyance, John frowned. "Are you alright?" He asked softly of him. "Do you want me to go?"  
  
"I'm fine, John. Now shut up and go to sleep," he replied curtly. Honestly. Earlier John was practically screaming that he was in love with him, and now he seemed to be doing everything short of running away in order to avoid him. _Perhaps I shouldn't have tried to get him to admit it._ Sherlock frowned at the thought and turned to burrow his face into his pillow, doing his best to ignore the ache in his heart.  
  
"I know you're not." John turned over to face him. "Tell me. Please. Is this about earlier? Because we can forget all that happened if you want." When he was met by only silence, John took Sherlock's shoulder and pulled slowly until the man was on his back. "Sherlock, please."  
  
Sherlock turned his head to find John's sea-storm eyes staring back at him, silently begging for some sort of response. Sherlock sighed and turned his head to look the other way. "I don't want to forget, John. I want to understand. I thought… I thought you'd be pleased after we kissed, that I was trying to accept your feelings for me and show you that they were reciprocated. But I suppose I was wrong. There's always something after all." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm only a little bit sorry.
> 
> I lie. I'm not sorry at all.


	13. “If this were Star Wars, you'd be frozen in carbonite by now."

"You're not wrong." John replied softly. "Never have you been more right. I guess I just got scared. I don't know of what. Just scared. I mean, I told you I loved you. I gave a speech on how much I loved you. I am such a twat." He shook his head at himself. "I didn't know to what extent you reciprocated. So I fled. I'm sorry."  
  
Sherlock chuckled. "You're an idiot, John. As usual, you have seen but not observed."  
  
John huffed good-naturedly. "Well don't expect that to change any time soon." He said, his voice filled with fondness. "I'll never be the genius my husband is."  
  
"True," Sherlock agreed, rolling back over to face John. "But I've found your level of intellect to be perfectly satisfactory." _I would never change you_ , were his hidden words. His eyes flicked down to John's lips before he was able to divert them elsewhere. _I wonder if I'll ever be able to do it again._  
  
John smiled at the compliment, understanding it perfectly, of course. It was more heartfelt than anything Sherlock could have said at that moment, for the words were entirely his own.  
  
He didn't miss Sherlock's gaze dropping and smiled. _Don't mind if I do_. He leaned in slightly to pressed his lips to Sherlock ever so softly, his eyelids fluttering closed at the touch.  
  
Sherlock's eyes widened, before he let them fall shut, relaxing into kiss. It was soft, timid almost. He instinctively raised one hand to cup John's face, stroking tenderly with his thumb.  
  
John smiled against Sherlock's lips at the simple touch. He pulled away and rested his forehead to Sherlock's. "I love you." He said again, this time softer but more assured.  
  
"I know." Sherlock whispered. He moved his lips to try and repeat the endearing phrase, but the words stuck in his throat. He looked to John, worried that the man might be angry that he was have such difficulties saying ‘I love you’. _Three words, they're so simple, why can't I say it? The words feel weird on my tongue_.  
  
John chuckled. "You know, if this were Star Wars, you'd be frozen in carbonite by now." He teased, wondering if Sherlock would get the joke. He had dragged the man through a Star Wars marathon once but doubted he retained any information from it. He didn't mind, not really, if Sherlock didn't - couldn't - say the words back. He had minded a lot more twenty minutes ago. The Holmes brothers were bad at expressing emotion. That was their way. And John understood. Didn't mind. Not really.  
  
Sherlock furrowed his brow in confusion before he realized that John must have been making some ‘pop-culture’ reference. "I don't believe I have any data on 'Star Wars' but I think I get your point." He shuffled his body to lessen the distance between them before mumbling "I'm sorry" in a sheepish voice.  
  
John rolled his eyes fondly. "I wouldn't've been the one freezing you in carbonite. It's what Leia and Han say before..." He heaved a sigh, abandoning attempts to explain the scene to Sherlock. "If you were as sincere in that restaurant as I was, I'd be content to never hear you say you loved me." John smiled at him.  
  
"I think we'll both be pleased to note that the technology to freeze people in "carbonite" does not exist," Sherlock smirked. Relieved that John wasn't angry, Sherlock began to let sleep work his way into his mind, his eyes drooping slightly.  
  
John chuckled, though he noticed, with a sinking feeling, how Sherlock didn't confirm his sincerity. He sighed lightly and closed his eyes. There would be plenty of time in the morning to pester the detective. Right now, John wanted to enjoy the miracle of Sherlock sleeping. 


	14. “Shut up or I'll get a divorce."

Sherlock woke the next morning feeling relaxed, warm, and completely trapped. Opening his eyes he found that he had buried his face into John's neck. John himself had one arm curled around Sherlock's back and a leg thrown over his hip and wrapped around Sherlock's leg. _He's like an octopus_ , Sherlock thought. He couldn't move, and further observations indicated that both of them were having a bit of a problem down below. _I need to wake him up. Maybe if I_... Sherlock blushed, but tentatively placed a kiss in the hollow of John's neck. He thought he felt the man move, so he repeated the action.   
  
John woke up groggily. He blinked his vision into focus and started when he saw Sherlock, untangling himself immediately. "I am so sorry." He murmured. _Shit_. Then he frowned. "Were you kissing me?"   
  
Sherlock blinked absently and then looked away. " I couldn't move...needed to wake you somehow..." He mumbled, trying to keep himself from fidgeting under the discomfort of the situation. _Perhaps that wasn't the best method_.   
  
John burst out laughing, but not unkindly. "So you start kissing me? Oh, Sherlock Holmes, you are one of a kind." He wanted to lean forward and kiss the man properly but was afraid that was a mistake.   
  
Sherlock read John's body language and swallowed the lump in his throat before speaking. "I wouldn't be opposed to it," he mumbled.   
  
"To getting out of bed now that you're free of me?" John teased, half knowing, half hoping that wasn't what he meant.   
  
"No. I mean, you clearly want to kiss me. I, um, wouldn't mind if you did." He stammered, feeling like he was just making a fool of himself.   
  
John chuckled. "I know. But you clearly wanted to get up before I was awake. I can't understand how my consciousness changes anything." He grinned flirtatiously at Sherlock then stretched, sitting up as he did so.   
  
Sherlock stuck his lip out in a pout. John was teasing him. He watched him stretch with a petulant glare, but petulance soon gave way to his usual curiosity. His eyes followed down the contours of John's body, still noticeable under the cotton t-shirt he had worn to bed. Despite being retired from the army, the man was still in good shape. Though a little chubby around the midriff, he noted with a smirk.   
  
John pulled the duvet up around himself. "Don't smirk at my fat, you bastard." He said with no real venom. He leaned down and pecked Sherlock's lips. "Do you want breakfast?"   
  
"No thanks. I ate plenty at dinner last night. But," he started with a teasing grin, "are you sure you want breakfast?" He poked at John's gut, doing his best not to giggle at his own joke.   
  
John glared at him. "Everyone pudges up when they sit down. That's life. Now shut up or I'll get a divorce." He wasn't entirely sure he was kidding.   
  
Sherlock couldn't tell if he was kidding either, so he promptly shut up and bit his lip to keep any more derogatory remarks from slipping out.   
  
"Are you sure you don't want breakfast?" John asked, getting up with a slight smile.   
  
Sherlock shook his head before also easing himself out of bed. "No. I shouldn't waste energy on digesting, rather I should be focusing on the case now. There should be an article in this morning's paper about our engagement last night. If all goes well we should have the killer's attention by the end of the day." As he spoke Sherlock glided across the room to his wardrobe, pulling out one blue silk robe and draping it around his body. _No need to waste time getting dress either_ , he thought.   
  
"And then what?" John asked, reaching for his own dressing gown (not without staring, for a moment, at the arse of his fine husband). He looked at Sherlock, concerned. "What do we do when he's chosen us? You failed to mention that part of the plan."   
  
"Simple. We let him come to us. Set a trap. Mycroft will be stopping by later today to give us his wedding gift, two GPS trackers that can be embedded under the skin. He's already shown Lestrade how it works, so he'll be responsible for keeping tabs on us. If we fail to apprehend the killer ourselves and get taken, he'll know and London's finest will be right behind us," he explained, turning and gracing John with a reassuring smile.   
  
John left the bedroom, opening the fridge with a loud, and slightly indignant; "I thought we were London's finest." He watched Sherlock following him into the kitchen and turned up his face, hoping for a kiss.   
  
"London's second finest, then," Sherlock corrected with a smirk, swanning past John and towards the sitting area. "At any rate, we have little choice but to rely on them for backup. We'll need to be on our guard from now on, John. Going out alone is not recommended, but we will need to continue to act normally. Well, as normal as would be expected now that we're married." He turned his attention towards a pile of mail sitting on the coffee table. Mrs. Hudson must have brought it up. He skimmed through the pile and pulled out a crisp, white envelope, embellished with golden letters. A formal invitation, smells like Mycroft's cologne so he must have sent it. Upon opening the letter he found an invitation to a new gallery opening at the Victoria and Albert Museum. _Perfect_. 


	15. "Just shut up and kiss me, you git."

"John!" Sherlock called turning to walk back towards the kitchen. "My brother has just done us a favour," he said, handing the letter over for John to review.  
  
"A favour? I have a spend a night with you in a crowded room full of people you don't like and that's supposed to be a favour? God help me." John said rolling his eyes at the letter, before realising that being seen in such a public setting would help with their case. "Fine fine. We'll go."  
  
"Excellent. Our murderer will be thrilled to see us there," Sherlock exclaimed, placing a quick kiss on the doctor's cheek before sending a quick text to his brother. "All set. Mycroft will send in our RSVP."  
  
"Great." John said, grabbing Sherlock's waist and pulling him in. "Does that mean I have the whole morning to spend with my darling husband however I choose?" John grinned broadly.  
  
Sherlock felt his cheeks burn, but didn't try to pull away. It feels nice to be held like this, he thought, opening his mouth to stammer out; "Yes. I s-suppose you do."  
  
"Wonderful." John murmured, kicking the fridge closed and standing up on his toes to place a soft kiss on Sherlock's lips. (He'd been hoping for the nose, but couldn't quite reach.)  
  
Sherlock closed his eyes and leaned further into the kiss, though he lost his balance and accidentally backed John against the fridge. "Sorry." He mumbled.  
  
John rubbed the back of his head, smirking slightly. "So I can make you lose your balance, can I?" He teased. He was still leaning against the fridge and pulled Sherlock in closer to him.  
  
Sherlock sent him a glare, though there was no anger behind it. "Only because I underestimated our height difference," He bit back, letting John pull him in.  
  
"Yeah yeah, good coat, short friend, I know, I know." John said, pretending to be dreadfully bored with it all but his eyes shone all too bright to pull off the act properly. He winked at Sherlock. "Just shut up and kiss me, you git."  
  
"With pleasure, doctor," Sherlock managed to tease back before gracing the man' lips with another tentative kiss.  
  
John's hands gripped Sherlock's hips tightly, but not enough to hurt, as he pressed back softly into the kiss.  
  
Sherlock wasn't entirely sure where how to proceed from here, or how John wanted to proceed, but he wasn't quite done kissing the man, so he tilted his head to change the angle and pressed a bit further, interested to see how John would react. John clutched more tightly to Sherlock, his tongue sliding forwards to tease the man's lower lip. He didn't know if Sherlock knew what to do, or what he wanted to do, and so proceeded slowly, cautiously. Sherlock found himself parting his lips, making way for John's probing tongue. He barely suppressed a moan when he felt it slip into his mouth. The corners of John's mouth lifted upwards ever so slightly as he massaged Sherlock's tongue with his own. One of his hands trailed upwards to entangle itself in the man's raven locks.  
  
 _This is pleasurable_. Sherlock thought, lifting his arms to entwine them around the shorter man. Out of curiosity he pushed forward with his own tongue, eager to explore the warm cavern of John's mouth.  
  
John allowed him to do so readily, not without a little moan of encouragement. _I am so glad I can't act_ , John thought to himself. _Thank God. And thank god for Sherlock Holmes_. Well, one always thanked God for Sherlock Holmes. Most wonderful man in the world.  
  
Sherlock eventually broke for air, resting his forehead against John's as his breath came out in heavy pants. He imagined his pupils matched those of the blonde doctor: wide as saucers and completely focused on the being in front of him.  
  
"John." He breathed, then stopped to try and remember what else he wanted to say. Maybe I just wanted to say his name.  
  
"Yes Sherlock?" John replied, equally out of breath. He couldn't take his eyes off Sherlock. The man looked wonderfully, beautifully undone; a complete mess. _I did that_. John grinned to himself. He kept a hold of Sherlock, unable - and very unwilling - to let go. 


	16. "You started it.”

Sherlock took a deep breath. "John, I lo--" The words were on the tip of his tongue, yet they still wouldn't come out. He tried again, but only silence passed his lips. He gazed at John apologetically and clutched his jumper a little tighter, afraid that he would try to move away.  
  
John smiled warmly. He wasn't hurt, per se, that Sherlock couldn't say he loved him, but he knew it was true and that was alright for now. "I love you too, my darling." He said softly. "You know, seeing as we're married, you'll probably need to be able to say that by tonight. Or he won't believe us and the plan will fall through. No pressure." He teased.  
  
Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I can only question why you didn't become a motivational speaker." He snapped. "But the gallery isn't until tomorrow night, in case you didn't actually read the details. That gives us a bit more time to plan."  
  
"Tomorrow night?" He scanned the leaflet in his hand. "Oh. So it is. Well, we should take a case then. Lestrade emailed me about one last night. I haven't had a chance to look at it yet because your tongue has been down my throat all morning." He smirked. "Not complaining." He added.  
  
"You started it, I believe." Sherlock retorted with a teasing grin. "But a case would pass the time. Show it to me," he said, pulling away slightly so that John was no longer pinned against the fridge.  
  
John chuckled and took out his phone, handing it to Sherlock. "Man found in his apartment, sitting on his couch, posed as if playing solitaire. No obvious cause of death and all the Kings were missing from the card game." John said as Sherlock read.  
  
Sherlock eyes blazed through the little bits of information included in the text. "Text Lestrade. Ask him if anyone has touched the crime scene yet then get dressed," he said, handing the phone back to John. He was about to pull away when he paused, then went back in for a quick kiss before whirling out of John's grasp. He glided down the hall towards his room, eager to get changed and ready to go.  
  
John blinked and sat down on the floor (the nearest not-experiment-covered surface). He texted Lestrade then waited for a reply, gazing (and grinning rather stupidly) at his ring.  
  
Sherlock blew into his room, hardly bothering to close the door properly behind him before he was stripping off his robe. He slid out of the rest of his clothes by the wardrobe before reaching in to pull out his typical attire: black pants, crisp button down shirt and a light, black jacket. His wedding ring gleamed as his hand emerged from the jacket sleeve, catching his attention. He stopped momentarily to admire the craftsmanship and what it symbolized. " _Love at first sight._ " That was what John had said. He smiled fondly at it before returning to the task at hand, throwing on a pair of socks and sliding on his shoes.  
  
John let his phone on the table ("Read Lestrade's text when you get out of there!" He called to Sherlock.) and went upstairs to get dressed himself. Knowing Sherlock would look dashing, as usual, he put in an effort to his attire; picking out pale slacks, a white shirt and a grey blazer and throwing them on with his usual gracelessness.  
  
He twirled and posed in front of the mirror, only realising afterwards that Sherlock was at the door and had seen the whole thing.  
  
The detective had gone upstairs to nag John to hurry. He hadn't thought the door would be open. Seeing John posing in front of the mirror had been… downright adorable.  
  
Sherlock realized he was staring and turned his gaze to the far wall of John's room, his cheeks bright red. "Um, Lestrade said he could keep the scene clear for another half hour. We should hurry. If you're ready."  
  
John nearly got embarrassed but then realised Sherlock was red enough for both of them. "Alright, baby." He said, winking at Sherlock as he walked past. "Let me do my teeth and we're good to go." God, he was so cute when he blushed.  
  
 _I'm acting like a teenage girl_. John rolled his eyes at himself.  
  
Sherlock was left gaping like a fish, staring stupidly after John until he disappeared into the bathroom. Only then was he able to recover from his trance. _How on earth am I rendered so powerless by that man_?  
  
He heard the click of a toothbrush being returned to his container and remembered that they had somewhere to be. He strolled past the bathroom just as John was emerging. "Come along, John," he called, making his way down to grab his coat and scarf. He was knotting his signature accessory just as John reached the landing. It took a lot of willpower to keep his mind from wandering back to the scene in John's bedroom.  
  
John grinned at Sherlock as he came up in front of him. Standing up on his toes, he brought his lips very close to Sherlock's. "Some day I'm going to rip that scarf off your neck and ravish you." John growled before leaning in further, grabbing his coat off the hook behind Sherlock and twirling away, skipping down the stairs.  
  
Sherlock blinked absently, stuck trying to understand the words that just came out of John's mouth and why his trousers seemed just a little bit tighter than usual. He responded to the sound of John shouting his name from down stairs. _Leaving. Right_.  
  
He bustled out of the flat, locking the door behind him, and following John outside, trying to ignore the devilish smirk on the ex-soldier's face. 


	17. "What did you do to him, freak?"

John hailed a cab and clambered in, dragging his wordless flatmate with him. After a few minutes of silence, John was getting worried. "Come on, it wasn't that bad, was it? I mean, I won't do it again if you don't like it."   
  
"No," Sherlock said, maybe a bit too quickly. He looked down at his hands before continuing."It was... It was just, um, unexpected." Sherlock stammered, pretty sure that before the day was through he would have second degree burns on the inside of his cheeks. He needed to get himself in check before they reached the crime scene, otherwise he wasn't sure he'd be able to focus.   
  
"Right. Well I'll stop being unexpected while there's an unexplained dead guy in his apartment. Afterwards..." He stopped himself. "I'm not helping at all, am I?" He asked with a chuckle as his husband turned red again.   
  
Sherlock pressed his lips into a line and found he couldn't even look at John at the moment without feeling his cheeks flush. Fortunately, they then arrived at the address, the house in question highlighted by a flock of police vehicles. Sherlock flew out the door and left John to pay the driver. He strode up to the barrier and was about to duck under when an unpleasantly familiar voice reached his ear.   
  
"Oi! Freak!" Donovan. He sighed, sliding under the yellow tape anyway, hoping to get to Lestrade before she caught up.   
  
John followed Sherlock, hoping he didn't get another urge to punch Sally (especially not when she was in reach). He did as he usually did in crime scenes; stood back and acted as a conductor of light. Except this time he was a conductor of light admiring the view.   
  
Sherlock in tight trousers bent over a dead body... It shouldn't have been as arousing as it was.   
  
Sherlock ran his deductive gaze over the corpse, taking in the wrinkles, the odd skew in the trouser legs. _Wasn't killed on the couch. There's a bruise on his temple, blunt force trauma, but not strong enough to cause death_. He leaned in and sniffed the air around the corpse, ignoring the scoffs behind him. _No chemical smell, but a faint, lingering reek of vomit; may have died due to asphyxiation. Altough perhaps injected with a sedative strong enough to stop his heart. Or a seizure-inducing poison. Confer with John in a moment. Now why the cards_?   
  
Sally Donovan walked around the room to where John stood, not paying attention to the wary look he was casting her way. "I can't believe you're still hanging around him. Tell me you're being bribed, or something. Blackmailed maybe?" she asked, she kept her voice low, but it was still loud enough that she knew Sherlock could hear.   
  
"Yes." John replied. "He tricked me into marrying him actually. To this day, I'm not sure if I'm really in love with the man." His voiced dripped so heavily with sarcasm he hoped he could drown her in it.   
  
He caught Sherlock's eye and walked over. "Doctor Watson-Holmes at your service, detective, what's the medical query?"   
  
"I need your medical opinion on cause of death. I can see some signs of se--" Sherlock was cut off by Donovan, who had just wrapped her head around John's retort.   
  
"You what?! You're joking, right?" she asked, staring at the doctor with utter disbelief.   
  
Sherlock closed his eyes and let out an irritated sigh. _Oh, the curse of object permanence_.   
  
John held up his left hand, though keeping his gaze on Sherlock. "Show her yours, Sherlock." He said, sounding altogether chuffed with himself. "Now. Can see signs of what, love?"   
  
Sherlock removed the glove on his left hand and held his up next to John, oddly pleased by the expression on Donovan's face. "Seizure or asphyxiation. I know he died over there." He explained, pointing towards the threshold into the kitchen, and dragged here to the couch where the killer set up the scene."   
  
Donovan had finished gaping at the two, and found herself pissed off at the fact that she was being ignored. "Oi! Hold on a tick. This needs some sort of explanation! What did you do to him, freak? Don't tell me it was 'love' because there's no way in hell a psychopath like you can fall in love. Give it up already." By this point her ranting was attracting the attention of the other officers. Lestrade had walked in to see what the commotion was about and was not surprised to find Sally and Sherlock having a stare down. Lestrade was trying to remember the last time he had seen Sherlock looking so pissed off.   
  
John touched Sherlock's shoulder ever so gently. "She doesn't matter, love, come back to me. No signs that I can see of a seizure. Must have been asphyxiation." He was trying to drag Sherlock's attention to the problem at hand. "The guy must have been really jealous of him." He said softly, inspecting the deck of cards laid out in front of the corpse.   
  
John's comment caught his attention and he immediately forgot about anyone else in the room. "Jealous? Why do you say that?"   
  
"Well... Despite the lack of wounds, it's a pretty violent death, very premeditated. And then-" He frowned, afraid of sounding stupid. "Didn't Lestrade say he'd just got a promotion at work? Well the Kings have all been stolen, it could mean someone was mad at him for ending up on top."   
  
John looked at Sherlock hopefully, wishing he'd got it right, praying he'd get to see Sherlock's ' _I'm proud of you, John_ ' face. He liked that face.   
  
Sherlock could have kissed the man. "Indeed, the murder was premeditated, very premeditated. Probably took him months to get everything planned out right. Our man here works in a very competitive firm and was just promoted, though he's worked at the company for less than a year. But that wasn't the only thing the killer was jealous of. We know that the dead man married a woman after only 3 months of dating, before that he managed to earn his degree early. All that time his murderer had been sitting quietly in the shadows, patiently waiting for his chance to step in front of our golden boy here. I wonder what went through his mind when he realized he was being murdered by his best friend." Sherlock paused, always enjoying adding a little bit of drama to his explanations. He was waiting for someone to ask the obvious questions: 'Why his best friend? 'Why did the killer choose to set up the scene as such?' etc. Any moment now…   
  
John knew Sherlock was waiting for questions. He grinned at him. "Well done, drama queen." He teased with a wink. "With that attitude, you'll soon be telling ghost stories."   
  
Lestrade butted in, reminding them they weren't only people in the room. "How do we find the best friend?" He asked.   
  
John glanced at Sherlock, eyebrows raised.   
  
"Simple." Sherlock stated, directing his answer to the other detective in the room. "Call his wife. Figure out where she is. Calendar on the wall indicates she scheduled a luncheon with our murderer, not that she had anything to do with it. She thinks she's just sharing a meal with a friend." 


	18. "Why I do things is no concern of yours, Sally Donovan."

Donovan felt like she was the only person who saw the weird behavior going on between the two consultants. She crossed her arms in a huff and decided it would be best to wait for Lestrade to clear the room before she resumed her previous interrogation.   
  
All of Scotland Yard except for Sally cleared out of the room sharpish. John, not realising she was there, leaned in and pecked Sherlock's lips. "You're brilliant, you are." He mumbled so just the man himself could hear, standing up and holding his hand out to Sherlock. He noticed Sally.   
  
"Oh, hi Sally." He said, a little awkwardly.   
  
"Oh my god! You've really fallen for the freak then, haven't you?" She exclaimed, eyes flitting back and forth between the two men. "What's the point? This is probably just some stupid experiment of his, you know! He can't love you back. Why do this to yourself?" She was seriously pitying John for fallen into such a trap, and pissed at Sherlock for placing him in it.   
  
Sherlock, on the other hand, was feeling a combination of anger and he thought could be hurt at Donovan's words. ‘ _He can't love you back!_ ' Sherlock felt his breath catch in his throat. _What if that's true? Is it true? No. I love John. I do. I just can't say it. But then... What if John believes her?_   
  
John shrugged as nonchalantly as he could manage. "Why I do things is no concern of yours, Sally Donovan." He spat out her name like sour milk. He stalked from the crime scene, hoping Sherlock would follow him (and also really hoping he wouldn't).   
  
_What if Sally was right? No of course she wasn't. Sherlock had the ability to love. Sally didn't know anything; she didn't live with the man_. John was sitting on the curb, waiting either for Sherlock or a miracle of some other kind. He blinked back the tears as soon as he realised they were threatening to fall. Too late. One slipped down his cheek. And then another.   
  
Sherlock walked from the crime scene a few minutes later, looking around to find his husband. "John?" he called, before spotting the man sitting on the curb. "There you are, John. We can go home now..." He said, trailing off when he thought he heard the sound of a weak sob, And then he saw John shake. "John? John what's wrong?" he asked urgently, quickly maneuvering to crouch in front of the crying man, trying to deduce how John had come to be in such a state and who should be punished for it.   
  
John wiped his eyes roughly. "Nothing. I'm fine." He sighed heavily. "Let's get a cab." He began walking towards the main road where more of the black cars would see them. He limped ever so slightly.   
  
Sherlock frowned and started after him. _He's clearly lying_ , he thought, and began processing his observations. If John wouldn't tell him, he could just as easily figure it out on his own. _He was perfectly happy when we arrived, a bit annoyed with Donovan, but I can hardly blame him. Was it…_ "You believe her." He said, surprised by the little bit of pain that pierced his heart like ice as he let the words out.   
  
"I... No of course n-" The doctor stopped himself and sighed. "Yeah. Maybe. I don't know." He refused to look at Sherlock, keeping his gaze on the path in front of him. He stopped where the road they were on met the main road and spotted a taxi. He hailed it and it came over. He got in without a word to Sherlock, but left the door open as an indication he should follow.   
  
Sherlock bit his cheek and climbed inside, squeezing close to the door so that there was a noticeable gap between them. _He believes her. He doesn't think I love him back. Do I love him though? It seems like the most logical conclusion, I've shown all the symptoms. I just can't say it. Why does he seem so far away?_   
  
The empty space separating him from John was putting a heavy pressure on his chest. He turned and parted his lips to speak, but no sound came out. He didn't know what to say to make this all better, to tell John that Donovan was lying. He looked down and saw John's hand resting on the seat. Tentatively, he started sliding his own hand closer, until they were mere inches apart.   
  
John saw Sherlock's hand inching towards his own. _Take it_ , John begged silently without looking up. _Please_. John knew Sherlock cared. Of course he did. But was it love? He could deal with it not being love just yet. But what if it was never love? _What do I do then?_   
  
Sherlock's hand was a hair's breadth away from John's and the man still hadn't flinched. Taking a final leap of faith he rotated his hand so he could intertwine their pinkies and paused. Still no reaction, positive or negative. He began pulling John's hand toward him so that he could slowly start threading more fingers together, brushing softly over the knuckles as he did so.   
  
John breathed a sigh of relief, moving away from the window and slightly closer to Sherlock. _Slightly_. He was still wary but allowed himself to relaxed somewhat. At least Sherlock was trying to make him feel better, trying to prove to him that Sally was wrong. 


	19. "I would never ask you to leave."

The rest of the ride home was completely silent. At some point Sherlock had fully grasped John's hand and inched a little closer after he had seen John relax. He only let go once the cab pulled up to the curb, but instead of running up to the door he decided to wait, holding the cab door open for John while the doctor finished paying.   
  
"Why'd you wait for me?" John asked, confused, as he closed the cab door behind him. "I mean, I'm not complaining. But why?"   
  
"I - I'm not really sure," Sherlock said with a shrug, looking sheepishly at the ground as the cab pulled away.   
  
"Ok." John went to the door and unlocked it, climbing the stairs to the flat. He flopped onto his arm chair with a sigh. "Do you want to make tea?" He asked as Sherlock entered the flat.   
  
"No, but you may if you like," Sherlock answered, sounding a bit distracted. In his mind he was trying to think of how things could go back to the way they were this morning before Donovan ruined everything. _Why are emotions so complicated? I don't like this… tension. Why do three little words have to be such a big deal? Will John want a divorce after the case if I can't say them? Will he leave? No, that would be unacceptable_.   
  
John groaned and got up to fix tea for both of them. "I'm not going to leave you." The doctor said softly, seeing the worry on Sherlock's face. "Yes, I want to hear you say it, but it's not such a big deal that I would leave you over it. I'm never going to leave unless you tell me to." And even then, I'll put up a fight, he added silently.   
  
"I would never ask you to leave," Sherlock whispered, partly hoping John hadn't heard. He felt a small trickle of relief flow through his mind at John's reassuring words and allowed a flicker of a smile to come forth before once again hiding behind his usual mask of indifference.   
  
John heard but pretended not to have, Sherlock clearly wanted to drop the matter entirely. He made tea, handed Sherlock a mug and took a sip from his own. He opened up his laptop and began typing up the newest case.   
  
Sherlock drank half his tea before setting it to the side. He felt the need to be alone with his thoughts and grabbed his violin. Silently he walked towards the bedroom and shut the door behind him. He placed the instrument delicately under his chin before drawing out one long quivering note.   
  
John watched after him and sighed. Where did it all go wrong? They'd been so happy earlier. He abandoned his blog and began making lunch, trying to distract himself with the processes of cooking.   
  
Sherlock played for hours, completely tuning out the world and everyone in it. When he finally stopped it was nearly sunset. He cleaned his instrument and tucked it carefully into it's case. He then stood in front of the door, contemplating if it was worth stepping out. _John will probably want to talk. We probably should talk_. With a sigh Sherlock gave in and turned the knob, stepping quietly out into the hall.   
  
"John?"   
  
John wasn't home but there was a plate of spaghetti bolognese on the kitchen counter with a note in front.   
  
_Gone out to do grocery shopping. If not home by 17:15, blame Mycroft. It's probably his fault._   
_Please eat, my love. It worries me when you don't eat._   
_Yours, John x_   
  
Sherlock found the note as he walked into the kitchen. Didn't I tell him not to go out on his own? Sherlock frowned and looked up at the clock. It was already past six. _He's late_.   
  
He whipped out his phone and pounded out a couple of texts. The first was to John.   
  
[ _Come home now. SH_ ]   
  
The second to Mycroft.   
  
[ _Let John go. SH_ ]   
  
He shoved his phone back in his pocket and drummed his fingers on the counter waiting for a response. He eyed the plate of food out of the corner of his eye. He wasn't really hungry. _But seeing me eat does seem to make John happy. The sacrifices I make for that man_. With a show of reluctance he pulled out a fork and took a couple of bites. It was cold, but Sherlock didn't really care. He took one more before putting the rest aside and walking out into the sitting room, still waiting for his phone to vibrate. _Perhaps I should send them again_.   
  
It was almost ten minutes before he got a response. It was from Mycroft.   
  
[ _I don't know what you're talking about, brother dear. MH_ ] 


	20. “Probably thinking about ‘us’.”

John had set out with every intention being home by quarter past five. But by the time he reached Tesco, he was in no mood to shop or deal with people at all. So he'd gone to the park, like he used to do on sunny afternoons back before he'd known Sherlock. Wow. He thought, remembering his life back then. I existed before I knew Sherlock Holmes. It was a strange concept to wrap his head around: somehow he'd managed to live for decades without the man he now couldn't stand to be away from for more than six hours.   
  
Then he realised he wanted to go home. But, remembering his promise to Sherlock (not that the man cared how full of food the fridge was unless he needed the space for a severed head), he decided to complete the task of grocery shopping first.   
  
John checked his phone as he rode in the taxi on his way back to Tesco. A message from Sherlock. It was from nearly half an hour ago. _Shit_. John quickly replied.   
  
[ _Sorry. Got distracted in Regent's Park. Just going to buy groceries now. Give me half an hour. JW_ ]   
  
[ _And finish that damn plate. None of this "five bites" nonsense. Eat. JW_ ]   
  
Sherlock looked down at his phone, feeling relief, then frustration, and possibly a twinge of guilt. He looked slowly over to where the plate laid in pieces in the sink, meal included. If anyone asked he would not be willing to admit that the lack of response had put him on edge. The plate incident had occurred shortly after Mycroft's text. The plate had it coming. He tried to reassure himself that the serial killer had not taken him yet by the fact that he himself had not been kidnapped either, which didn't fit the killer's MO. He paced around the room for 5 minutes, and then managed to find John's gun.   
  
*******   
  
He looked over at the 5 new bullet holes behind the couch. _Maybe John won't notice_. He reread John's message about getting groceries and began to ponder about what could have distracted John. A friend?Wouldn't have taken that long. _If it had been some sort of emergency he would have informed me. He must have gone there to think then. That will be something to hold over his head the next time he scolds me for losing track of time. Probably thinking about '"us"_. Sherlock frowned at that last thought, reminded of the big issue at hand. He needed a plan to make John happy again, so that he wouldn't want to leave. At the very least they needed to keep up the happy couple act until the case was over. Sherlock went over to the couch and assumed his thinking position, giving him twenty-five minutes to come up with a plan. _What could make John forget the events of today?_   
  
John meandered through the aisles, not really in any hurry to get home. At quarter to seven he reached the checkout and at ten to he was climbing into a taxi to take him home. 


	21. “Just say it. Please.”

He arrived at the flat at 19:03. Sherlock was on the couch. _Did he even realise I was gone?_ He went into the kitchen to put away the groceries and found Sherlock's uneaten meal mixed with shards of plate on the floor. _Wonderful_ , he thought sarcastically, opening the fridge with a sigh.   
  
_John's found the mess_ , Sherlock thought as the heavy sigh reached his ears. He had been pulled from his mind palace at the sound of John's footsteps on the stairs, but didn't feel completely prepared for interacting with John just then, so he remained perfectly still. Now that John was busy in the kitchen he slowly got up, sucked in a deep breath, and moved to stand just on the outside of the kitchen, waiting for John to notice.   
  
John put the last of the milk away and closed the fridge, turning around. "Hello Sherlock." He said, smiling somewhat warily.   
  
"You're late," Sherlock muttered, not quite making eye contact.   
  
"Sorry." John said, equally quietly. "Why did you want me home?" He stood close to the fridge, unsure whether to move or not, trying to think of the make-out session they'd had right where he stood only a few hours ago.   
  
"I, um, we're being targeted by a killer, supposedly, I didn't know where you were… Mycroft didn't have you. I was... worried," he stuttered out, a bit red-faced at the confession.   
  
"You were worried? About... Me?" John frowned. "But why?"   
  
Sherlock looked up at him then, finally making eye contact. "Isn't it obvious?" he asked. Elevated heart rate, shorter breaths.   
  
"I..." John didn't want to assume anything. He'd made too many stupid assumptions already. "No it's not."   
  
Sherlock could have punched a wall with all the frustration he was feeling. "You do know, John. This signs are perfectly clear. Just look! Please." he begged, stepping up so that he was right in front of the shorter man. "Donovan was wrong. I... You know that."   
  
"Just... Just say it, Sherlock. Please." John pleaded, meeting his husband's gaze. He wanted to step forwards; to close the gap and bury his face in Sherlock's chest. But he needed hear the three little words.   
  
Sherlock's heart clenched at the almost desperate look in John's eyes. He cared deeply for John. He could hardly think back to a time John wasn't there, following him on cases, making him clear out the fridge, relaxing as he played his violin, defending him when others called him a freak. _I don't want John to look sad. I want him to be happy - with me_. He thought, closing his eyes and taking a calm, steady breath.   
  
"John - I… Iloveyou." He blurted out, biting his cheek as soon as the words were out, hanging in the air and slowly falling, waiting to be caught by John's ears.   
  
John sighed with relief, closing the gap and wrapping his arms around Sherlock's torso. "I love you too, you git." He said, nuzzling his head into the soft fabric of Sherlock's shirt and inhaling deeply.   
  
Sherlock looked down at the man wrapped around him, slightly shocked. _Was it really that simple?_ He asked in his head, awkwardly positioning his own arms in order to return the hug. _I could get use to this. But only with John_.   
  
John looked up at Sherlock. "Do you have any plans for this evening?" He asked softly. "I know you haven't eaten so we could get a take away?"   
  
"I'm on a case, John," Sherlock whined. "You can order what you want, just be sure to have it delivered. I'd rather you didn't go out again." He squeezed John a little bit tighter on his last statement, as if to emphasize his unwillingness to let John leave again.   
  
"You're... Fine. I'll get them to deliver. What do you want to do then, love?" He asked, smiling at Sherlock's unusual sentiment. He glanced at his phone on the kitchen table. He'd have to leave Sherlock's arms to reach it.   
  
Sherlock followed John's gaze and deduced what he was thinking. He didn't really want to let John go, but it could just be temporary, just long enough for him to reach the phone. He loosened his arms just enough so that John could pull away. "I suppose we can, um, pick this back up after you've ordered." He murmured.   
  
John beamed at his, dashing for the phone. He filed through his contacts for the number, quick as a flash, and held the phone to his ear. He said their usual order by rote, hoping Sherlock wouldn't notice he'd ordered enough for two. He put the phone down. "Want to watch a movie? Have a couple-y night in?" He said, gaze once again fixed on Sherlock.   
  
Sherlock couldn't help but be amused by John's excitement. _This is how it should be_ , he thought with a smile. In all honesty, he should go and review the current files on their killer, but then again, John was smiling and happy again. _I could always review the files after John goes to bed_.   
  
"It's not going to be another ' _Bond Marathon_ ' is it?" he asked, slightly teasing. John had attempted to get him to sit through five James Bond films, but ended up kicking him out halfway through the first one.   
  
John shuddered visibly. "Never again." He teased. "You can pick what we watch. I don't mind. I just want to cuddle with you." John shrugged, going slightly pink.   
  
Sherlock suppressed a grin, and thought about what they could watch.   
  
"I don't know about movies, John, but I do know that there is a live broadcasting of the London Symphony Orchestra concert tonight featuring Kyung Wha Chung as a guest performer," he said, a hint of enthusiasm in his voice. Sherlock realised that it probably wasn't what John had had in mind, but it would still allow for 'cuddling', as John so childishly called it.   
  
John groaned internally. He loved hearing Sherlock play but that was because he always played what he felt; he was so open and flawless in the way he handled the instrument. But an orchestra... He saw Sherlock's face. "That sounds wonderful." He said, only half lying. Sherlock's beautiful enthusiasm would be worth stepping on lego. He could live through an orchestra. 


	22. "Oh please, you were a doctor."

Sherlock smiled and glided past John towards the living room, planting a quick kiss on his cheek in passing. He grabbed the remote and flipped on the telly to the proper channel before sitting down on one end of the couch, leaving plenty of space for John when he came to join him.   
  
John grabbed a bottle of red wine and two glasses, setting them down on the coffee table before tucking himself under Sherlock's arm and leaning into him. He looked up and kissed his cheek. "I love you, Sherlock." He mumbled as the conductor bowed, announcing the start of the orchestra.   
  
Sherlock blushed before attempting to mumble an "I love you too," - which likely sounded more like "irvutoo" - in a very quiet voice.   
  
On screen, the audience had hushed and the conductor was poised, signaling to the musicians that he was about to begin. With a flick of his wrist a soft harmony began to take shape from the strings, floating and twirling before calling the woodwinds out to play. Sherlock leaned against the back of the couch and pulled John back with him, closing his eyes and smiling as he allowed the music to soothe his mind.   
  
John leaned into Sherlock's warm figure, keeping his eyes fixed on the younger man's face. He seemed so beautifully calm. He barely paid attention to the music, only enough to notice that Sherlock's breaths were in time with the beats. He curled his feet under himself and sighed quietly yet happily to himself.   
  
Sherlock couldn't remember a time he had felt this relaxed without calling on the assistance of certain recreational substances. The orchestra transitioned into an old Rhapsody that held a gypsy vibe to it. He found himself drumming his fingers on John's stomach, where he had decided would be the best place to rest his hand.   
  
John tried to suppress his laughter at Sherlock's touch. If he let forth so much as an unmanly giggle, Sherlock would know how ticklish he was the outcome could be catastrophic. So he opted to softly, chastely, kissing along Sherlock's jaw, inhaling the wonderful scent of the man to distract himself.   
  
_This is an interesting reaction_. Sherlock thought, tilting his head a bit to give John better access. He continued tapping his fingers to the rhythm of the orchestra, silently hoping this would encourage John to keep up the act. His lips parted slightly when John pressed his own to the spot just beneath his ear.   
  
John was biting the inside of his cheek now, trying not to laugh. Maybe Sherlock was only continuing because he wanted John to keep kissing him. John wanted to keep kissing him too but he pulled away in the hopes the hellish drumming would stop.   
  
_Theory disproved; drumming not directly correlated with kissing._   
  
Sherlock pouted as he felt John's lips disappear. He wanted them back. _I'll go to them if I must,_ he thought, before turning his head to place a firm kiss on John's mouth. _Too enthusiastic?_ he questioned himself, easing off on the pressure just a tad.   
  
John felt a wave of relief as Sherlock's fingers slowed, followed quickly by one of surprise as the man's mouth was on his. He pressed back softly, suddenly realising what this was about. "I'll keep kissing your neck if you want me to you daft git." He mumbled against Sherlock's lips, then pulled away. "Just stop with that bloody finger thing."   
  
"Stop? Why?" Sherlock questioned, genuinely curious. He drummed his fingers once to experiment.   
  
John was not prepared for that. Without being able to steel himself beforehand, he burst out laughing and slapped Sherlock hand away. "Don't." He begged. "No. Please."   
  
Sherlock grinned. "John Watson, ex-army doctor, a man who chases criminals with a mad man, is ticklish," he teased, running his fingers over John's stomach and underneath his ribs, chuckling as he began to squirm.   
  
John wriggled uncomfortably, trying to escape Sherlock's long skilled ( _of course he's good at his, he plays the violin and knows everything about human anatomy_ ) fingers.   
  
"Sherlock... I was a... soldier. I don't want to... have to... hurt you." He wheezed. "Stop."   
  
"Oh please, you were a doctor, " Sherlock countered, continuing with his assault, enjoying having John Watson at his mercy.   
  
"I had bad days." He growled.   
  
One rogue arm was flung out and, completely accidentally, slapped Sherlock across the face. 


	23. “You know I never would.”

John froze. "I am so sorry, Lock."   
  
Sherlock sat perfectly still, one hand cupped protectively over his injured cheek. It was a situation that felt all too familiar to him. _Breathe. It was an accident. John's not like that. It was an accident, right?_   
  
John sat up and cupped Sherlock's face softly, pressing kisses to the parts of his face that had been struck. "I am so sorry, my love. It was an accident. You know I never would. Never. Not on purpose."   
  
"I-I know," Sherlock replied quietly, visions of the past still playing out in front of his eyes. He closed his eyes and tried to shut them out. _John isn't them._   
  
"How do I fix this?" John begged, hating seeing Sherlock so broken (hated knowing that no one else would even be able to see that emotion; he hid it so well). "Please. I love you, Sherlock. I’m so sorry."   
  
Sherlock looked over to take in John's pleading gaze before quickly dropping his eyes to look down at his lap. The orchestra was still playing in the background. The soloist was drawing out long, beautiful notes from her violin.   
  
"Just... hold me," Sherlock whispered, wanting to let the music carry away his dark thoughts. He knew it was odd for him to ask for affection, but he would do anything to forget what had just happened and let things return to normal.   
  
John nodded and pulled Sherlock into him, hugging the taller man's head tight to chest and stroking his hair. "I love you." He mumbled once. Or twice. Or a few more times. He couldn't remember. He let the music wash over both of them, leaning down to kiss Sherlock's forehead softly.   
  
Sherlock closed his eyes and focused on John's touch, John's smell, John's gentle words of comfort. He allowed himself to nuzzle further into John's chest, admiring how strong it felt. _John will protect me,_ he thought. He was almost completely relaxed when a knock on the front door made him flinch.   
  
John felt the flinch and hugged him tighter before getting up with a kiss to Sherlock's cheek. "Back in a moment, love." He said walking to the door.   
  
Sherlock watched him go and then leaned back on the couch, pulling his knees up to his chest. He sat, eyes focused on the doorway and waiting for John to reappear. _I'm behaving like a child, emotional and needy. I don't understand why I'm so affected by events from so long ago. Why couldn't I just delete them?_   
  
John arrived four minutes later carrying a bag of Chinese. He glanced at Sherlock. "I'll be back in a minute. Just let me serve dinner, ok?" John said softly before entering the kitchen. He dished out two plates and brought them out, handing one to Sherlock. "Eat, love." He insisted when Sherlock looked like he might refuse.   
  
Sherlock had been peckish before, but he really wasn't hungry now.   
  
"Save it for later," he suggested, pulling his legs further into himself.   
  
"Please, Sherlock. I am sorry." John put the dish on the coffee table (in the hopes that Sherlock might yet eat) and sat down with his own plate.   
  
"I know," he whispered. "I forgive you, John." To prove his words he reached over and placed a gentle kiss on John's cheek. In truth, he was more upset at himself for letting his emotions get a hold of him like this. They had finally gotten over the awkwardness from earlier, too.   
  
"Good. I love you, Sherlock." John repeated, relief filling him completely. He leant over and kissed Sherlock's lips softly. "After we've eaten, I can continue my work from earlier." He whispered, grazing his lips along Sherlock's neck in soft reminder and then turning to his meal.   
  
Sherlock shuddered a little as a tingling sensation shot down his spine and pooled in his groin. He saw John glance over at him, obviously sensing the movement, and Sherlock turned and picked up the food, eager to do anything to distract himself from the odd feeling. _What the hell was that? It felt... oddly invigorating._   
  
John tried as hard as he could not to laugh at Sherlock. He wasn't sure what to make of the man's reaction but wasn't about to question his sudden appetite. He leant back in his seat and fixed his gaze on his husband. 


	24. “Jealous, John?”

Sherlock felt John's eyes on him and ceased in his actions, a warm blush spread across his face as he swallowed the little food that was still in his mouth. Sheepishly, he lowered the dish and tried to figure out how to explain himself. _I don't even know why I'm acting this way. Logic is failing me._   
  
"Ah ah." John protested. "Keep eating. I told you; we're doing anything interesting until we're _both_ finished." John took another bite of his own meal. I'm probably intimidating him. But now that I don't have to hide it, I really can't look away. John smiled, in what he hoped was an encouraging manner, at Sherlock.   
  
Sherlock frowned a little and looked back and forth between John and the remaining food. He still wasn't actually hungry, but John was promising him 'something interesting' and he wasn’t 100% sure about what that 'interesting' thing was. Silently, he cursed his overwhelming sense of curiosity and brought the plate back up, resuming eating at a slower pace while eyeing John skeptically.   
  
John chuckled to himself and beamed at Sherlock. "Thank you." He said, standing up with his own, now empty, plate. "Tea?" He began making his way into the kitchen.   
  
Sherlock nodded, hoping that tea wasn't the interesting thing John had in mind. He picked up his own plate and followed, placing it by the sink after he entered the kitchen. After that he hovered awkwardly, unsure of whether he wanted to return to the living room or not. _The room is colder without John. However illogical that sounds_...   
  
John glanced at Sherlock, then down at the plate, then back to Sherlock. Then his face split into a broad grin. John stirred sugar into Sherlock's mug and handed it to him. He added a drop of milk to his own and then looked up, confused to see Sherlock still standing in front of him. "Are we not going back to the sitting room then?" John asked cheerily, standing up on his toes to peck Sherlock's cheek as he walked by back to his seat.   
  
"You spoke about something interesting," Sherlock stated as he wedged himself between John and the armrest of the sofa, his cup of tea held carefully in his slender hands.   
  
John curled up against Sherlock, tucking his feet under him as he sipped his tea. "Tea first." He mumbled, sighing contentedly.   
  
Sherlock huffed, drinking his tea anyway. The concert was on it's last piece, each musician sweating under the intensity of the lights and the music they were playing.   
  
John was gazing at the tv, only half paying attention. "Would you ever consider playing live, Sherlock?" He asked curiously.   
  
"I play live for you all the time," he remarked, taking a sip of his tea.   
  
"I know. I meant in front of people who would pay to see you. You have enough fame that any place you played would sell out. And you have the talent." John sipped his tea.   
  
"Oh, that. The life of a career musician is far too dull and tedious. _She_ originally wanted me to do the same thing," he said with a slight frown.   
  
John knew he should probably drop it but he was too curious. "She?" Either he meant his mother or Sherlock had... been with a girl. The former was a million times more likely.   
  
"Mother-dear," Sherlock replied in a slightly scathing tone.   
  
"Oh. Phew." Relief flooded through John, washing away the jealousy he hadn't felt since Irene Adler had been in their lives.   
  
Sherlock raised an eyebrow, looking at John for a moment before the pieces clicked together in his head. He smirked. "You thought I was speaking of another woman. Jealous, John?"   
  
"Jealous?" John scoffed before dropping the act and snuggling in closer to Sherlock. "Yes, very. Never leave me." He said softly.   
  
Sherlock felt his heart skip a beat at John's request. He put down his tea and wrapped an arm over John's shoulders. "I won't," he whispered.   
  
"Good." He turned and kissed the hand of Sherlock's that was on his shoulder. He took a final sip of tea and set the cup down, smiling up at Sherlock. "Are you done?" He asked about the tea.   
  
Sherlock showed him the empty cup in his hand before setting it down on the table in front of him. The concert had finished and that left them with the inevitable question of :   
  
"Now what?" Sherlock asked, looking to John for a clue. 


	25. “I think I need more data.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m posting two chapters today as this will be the last chapter for a while. I'll be away for the next five weeks or so without wifi (I think I might _die_ ). I promise to update as often as I can, whenever I can scab free wifi in restaurants etc.

"Well." John manoeuvred himself so he was sitting on Sherlock's lap, facing him. "Now it's up to you, but I wanted to do this." He leant forward and placed his lips on Sherlock's neck, sucking gently.  
  
Sherlock sucked in air through his teeth and tilted his head back to give John more access. "I - I think t-this is acceptable," he gasped out. His skin felt on fire at the point where John's lips gently pulled.  
  
John only hummed in reply, grazing the skin with his teeth. He began slowly grinding down against Sherlock's crotch, his eyes fluttering closed.  
  
Sherlock's hips instinctively rose to meet John's. He let his head fall back and tried to focus on keeping his breathing steady. The sensation from earlier was doubled in intensity. His trousers were growing tighter as John rubbed their groins together. Sherlock was experiencing an odd sensation of pleasure and anxiety. "J-John..." He breathed, feeling the soldier’s teeth pinch his skin.  
  
John pulled away immediately. "Did I do something wrong? I'm so sorry." He murmured.  
  
"No. I-I… It's just slightly overwhelming." Sherlock swallowed and peeked up at John. He felt like he wanted John to keep going, but he also felt nervous to say so. He kept his hands on John's waist as an indication that he could stay where he was.  
  
John frowned. "It's supposed to be overwhelming, love. But is it good overwhelming or bad overwhelming? Because I can stop, if you-" He felt Sherlock's hands tighten on his hips and smiled lightly. He didn't say anything, wanting Sherlock to confirm before he continued.  
  
Sherlock bit his lip, considering John's question. "I think I need more data… Could we continue?"  
  
John chuckled. That was such a Sherlockian thing to say. He leant down, returning his lips to Sherlock's neck, worrying the skin with his teeth and tongue, but not enough to leave a mark. Hickeys were for wild, sex-crazed, new couples. Not a married pair. And for this case, appearance was everything. He gently began grinding on Sherlock again, more cautiously this time. He made no noise, listening attentively to Sherlock.  
  
Sherlock allowed himself to relax a bit more. He trusted John and knew he wouldn't do anything to hurt him. He rolled his head back and tried to suppress a moan, hands clenching around John's waist.  
  
John ran his fingers through Sherlock's hair as he kissed down Sherlock's jaw line and up to his lips. He slowly slipped his tongue out and brushed it against Sherlock's lower lip, asking for permission to enter.  
  
Sherlock tentatively parted his lips, giving in to John's persistent tongue. His breath hitched as he felt the slick muscle enter his mouth. It felt odd but incredible. He pressed back lightly with his own tongue, following his instincts.  
  
John massaged Sherlock's tongue with his own, softly and slowly as he continued grinding his hips against the man's crotch. With only four layers of fabric separating them, John could feel Sherlock's hardness with his own erection. He moaned into Sherlock's mouth.  
  
Sherlock arched his hips, desperate to get some friction. He suddenly felt like he was wearing too many clothes. _We're both wearing too many clothes_. Not wanting to pull away from the kiss, Sherlock began sliding his hands under John's jumper, tracing his fingers along the contours of John's back.  
  
John shivered and melted against Sherlock's freezing but slenderly skillful fingers. He took that as a hint to start removing layers and his fingers went to tug at the buttons on Sherlock's silk shirt, physically restraining himself so he didn't rip it from the other man's back.  
  
"John… Off," Sherlock demanded, practically whimpering. He was fighting a losing battle against his desire to explore every inch of John's body.  
  
"The... clothes?" John panted. He finished unbuttoning and tugged the silk from Sherlock's shoulders.  
  
Sherlock shivered as his chest was exposed. He tilted his head up and took in John's face. _Pupil's blown, lips swollen, sweating and breathing heavily; gorgeous_ , Sherlock thought. His breath was synced with John's and his heart was beating quickly in his chest. _I didn't know it could feel this good_.  
  
He dropped his gaze down to John's still clothed torso and felt like he needed to even the field. He slowly drew his hands around to John's front and tugged lightly on the obtrusive jumper.  
  
John raised his arms, only breaking eye contact with Sherlock when wool obstructed his view. He smiled as the jumper was tossed aside. "So how far do you want to go?" He asked softly.  
  
Sherlock furrowed his brows in concentration. _How far **am** I willing to go? It has been a while. And the last time_ … Sherlock stopped there and returned his attention back to John.  
  
"I'm, um… I'm not sure… I don't know if I'm ready for penetrative sex.." Sherlock stated, looking up at John apologetically.  
  
John nodded, remembering earlier. He had no idea what had happened exactly in Sherlock's past but with the drugs and the violence, it can't have been a walk in the park. "Of course. Come on, let's move into the bedroom." He said, slowly standing up and holding out his hand to the beautiful man in front of him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're a quarter of the way through the adventure! Yay!
> 
> Thanks so much for reading this fic. Your kind words and kudos mean a lot to me!
> 
> For more of my writing, you can go to [ **thelizlanganblog.tumblr.com**](http://thelizlanganblog.tumblr.com)


	26. "Just kissing and handjobs."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! So I've finally got wifi. I'll be online for about two more days so I'll update about three more times. I'm heading off again then but I know of a wifi hotspot so I'll try update twice a week. After that, I'll be home and updating daily again. Sorry for the delay. Love you all x

Sherlock offered a soft smile and accepted John's hand. _It's fine. This is fine. John's not them_ , he chanted, moving close to place a gentle kiss on John's lips. _John's so much better_.

John stopped. "We really don't have to do this if you're not ready." He insisted. "Sherlock, I don't want you to resent me. Maybe we should call it a night." He said softly, kissing Sherlock slowly.

Sherlock felt conflicted. True, he was nervous and wasn't sure how he would react later on..but he also wanted to please John. He wanted John. He stepped closer, biting his lip as their groins pressed together. He was still achingly hard and that would have to be taken care of one way or another.

He looked into John's eyes and saw concern and adoration. "I do love you, John," he whispered, pressing their foreheads together and closing his eyes. "I want to try."

"I love you too." John nodded, seeing lust in Sherlock's eyes, but not missing the hesitation. "How about just hands?" He proposed with a kiss to Sherlock's nose (which he could barely reach). "Just kissing and hand jobs?" He squeezed Sherlock's hand in his own. _Like teenagers would in a car backseat_ , he tried not to think. But he loved Sherlock and was perfectly fine to take things as slowly as the man needed them to be. Hell, three days ago he was convinced he'd never even get to kiss the man and he had been ( _somewhat_ ) fine with that.

Sherlock felt some of the tension leave him. "That could work," he murmured, slowly pulling John back towards his room.

John smiled and pulled the door closed behind them, encasing them in the silence and solitude of Sherlock's room. John barely ever came in here. He rested against the door, pulling Sherlock in and kissing him. Sherlock rested his hands on John's shoulders, pushing back tenderly into the kiss.

John smiled against Sherlock's lips and held him tighter, wishing he could go back and undo all the wrongs that had been done to Sherlock in the past. He pushed Sherlock back, keeping their lips connected until both men were lying on the bed.

Sherlock pulled back just far enough that he could gaze at the man above him. His eyes flickered down to the hollow of John's neck and back up to meet his eyes. Hesitantly, Sherlock reached up and placed a featherweight kiss just along the collar bone, uncertain if John had wanted him to do anything of the sort.

John held his breath as Sherlock leaned forwards and had to stop himself from melting at the touch. He moved his head back, hoping the man would take the hint to continue.

He's mimicking my reactions from earlier. Sherlock noted. He repeated the gesture, slowly and carefully, working his way up John's neck. He brushed his lips back down along the soft skin until they pressed into the hollow. Out of curiosity, he parted his lips and licked the salty skin.

John moaned quietly at the feel of Sherlock’s curious tongue. His hand slowly slipped down Sherlock’s torso, stroking the skin just above the line of his trousers.

Sherlock flinched as John's hands went lower and he silently cursed himself for doing so. He buried his face into the crook of John's neck, wrapping his arms a bit tighter around his back.

John paused, very conscious that Sherlock was uncomfortable with what they were doing. “Do you want to stop?” He asked. “Or do you want me to not do… that?” He leant down and kissed the crown of Sherlock’s head, inhaling Sherlock’s scent deeply.

Sherlock breathed deeply, trying to calm himself. "Sorry. I don't think… I wanted to... with you, I mean..." Sherlock babbled, pressing himself a bit closer against John's chest, afraid he was going to leave.

John kissed his head again, repeatedly this time, trying to calm him. "It's ok. Sherlock, hush, it's fine." He whispered soothingly. "I love you. I'm not going anywhere. I told you we'd do this at your pace. You've been hurt and this is bringing back painful memories. And that's something I will always respect."

Sherlock closed his eyes, trying to focus on the present. John's kisses were reassuring and he could feel the panic from earlier fading away. He suddenly felt tired, emotionally worn from today's events.

"Could we just lie here?" He asked quietly.

John smiled down at Sherlock. "Of course we can, let me get into my pyjamas and I'll be right with you." He ran his fingers through Sherlock's hair. "I'm sorry, love." He murmured.

Sherlock watched him go and got up once he heard John start up the stairs. He changed into a pair of pajama pants and went back to the bed, burying himself in the duvet, knees drawn up to his chest.


	27. “Maybe I wouldn’t sleep in my room anymore.”

John appeared a few minutes later with a pile of clothes for the next day under his arm. He laid them out on a chair and glanced at Sherlock. “I have a proposition.” He said cheerily, walking over and climbing in beside the other man.   
  
Sherlock rolled over and looked at him curiously. "What kind of proposition?"   
  
“You stop using our kitchen for experiments and I’ll get you a new fridge to put in my bedroom.” John replied, smirking slightly.   
  
Sherlock quirked an eyebrow. He liked the idea of having his own fridge for his experiments, but...   
  
"Why would you put it in your room?" he asked.   
  
“Well…” John began nervously. “Well, maybe I wouldn’t sleep in my room anymore.” He looked away from Sherlock, face going red.   
  
"You want to move to my room?" Sherlock asked, a little surprised. "Even if we don't, um, become intimate… You still want to just sleep here?"   
  
John nodded. “We have to for the case anyway. But when the case is over, I’d like to stay.” He sighed. “Most couples who sleep together don’t have sex every night.”   
  
Sherlock didn't know what to say. When it came to the activities of a "normal couple" Sherlock could only go off of what he observed in the real world. His knowledge of what happened in the bedroom was based off of a series of worse case scenarios in which he had been repeatedly informed 'this was not the case for everyone else,' leaving him with faulty assumptions of what normal people do when they're alone.   
  
"I'd like it if you stayed," Sherlock whispered, tucking his head shyly into his pillow. "It's a deal."   
  
John grinned at him. “Wonderful. We can start moving our stuff tomorrow before that party thing.” He kissed Sherlock’s cheek. “Goodnight, 'Lock. Love you.” He lay down and closed his eyes.   
  
Sherlock blinked absently, starting at John's 'sleeping' form. Gradually, he let his long legs stretched out and inched his way closer until his head was nestled against John's shoulder. Never before had he been willing to be this vulnerable in front of another person. It was almost as if a burden was being lifted off his shoulders. Sherlock smiled softly and closed his eyes, overall pleased with how the day had ended.   
  
John scooted closer to Sherlock, smiling to himself. A lack of sex was not a problem. Not to John. He’d loved Sherlock for years without being able to do so much as touch him. Light kisses and sharing a bed would still feel like heaven if that was all Sherlock was ever ready for. He needed to let Sherlock know that somehow… He frowned to himself, thinking hard until he eventually gave up and fell asleep. 


	28. “Why is a raven like a writing…”

The first thing Sherlock noticed upon waking was the sound of light breathing. He could feel the air being gently blown onto his face with each exhale. Smell came next, his nose greeted by the familiar combination of wool and tea. He then felt the comfort of one strong arm that had been thrown protectively across his hip. Slowly, he opened his eyes and took into the sight of a still sleeping John. _He looks so peaceful_. Sherlock thought. He gently pushed out his legs to get a little bit of a stretch, hoping his movements wouldn't wake the man next to him,   
  
John didn’t wake from Sherlock’s gentle movements but the shift caused him to snore once, twice, before settling back into his slumber.   
  
Sherlock decided John wasn't waking up anytime soon, but that didn't mean he couldn't start his day. Carefully he rolled, stretching his arms above his head and arching like a cat. He then reached down to gently lift John's arm so that he could slide out from underneath it.   
  
This gentle movement woke John up. He frowned groggily, eyes still closed. "Sh- Sherlock?" He mumbled, brain still fuzzy. "Why is a raven like a writing..." He trailed off and let out a soft snore, falling back asleep, unfortunately tightening his grip on his detective.   
  
Sherlock chuckled at John's odd morning greeting, and then looked down at his new predicament. _I suppose getting up his no longer an option. Not without waking John_. He sighed and moved one hand up to run his fingers along John's arm. He traced his fingers slowly along the edges of the muscle, admiring their smooth flow beneath John's soft skin.   
  
John began mumbling inaudibly in his sleep as Sherlock tickled his arm. Then he frowned, his breath quickening and his peaceful face turning more frantic.   
  
"John?" Sherlock called, slightly concerned. The arm around him was clenched tighter and the man it belong to began to sweat. The word ' _nightmare_ ' flashed in Sherlock's mind. He reached a hand up and gently shook John's shoulder. "John, wake up."   
  
John's eyes flew open and he sat upright in bed, panting. He pulled his knees up to his chest and let go of Sherlock to wrap his arms around them. He breathed deliberately, slowly, blinking away tears. "Sorry." He mumbled to Sherlock.   
  
"It's fine.." Sherlock murmured, eyeing the ex-army doctor cautiously. "It was just a bad dream," he soothed, tentatively placing one hand on John's arm.   
  
“I know, it’s just…” John trailed off, unsure how to continue. He leaned into Sherlock’s touch.   
  
"Do you, um, want to talk about it? Some people argue that it helps." Sherlock suggested. He didn't really believe what other people say, but if John thought doing so would make it feel better, than so be it.   
  
John shook his head. “You don’t want to know. It’s fine.” He uncurled and got out of bed. “Do you need the shower right now or can I have it?”   
  
"You can have it," Sherlock said with a sigh. It was obvious John was upset, but Sherlock was frustrated with himself that he didn't know how to fix it. _Useless_ , he muttered in his head, watching John leave the room with a sad look. Once he heard the sound of a shower starting he got up and went to the living room. He pulled out his laptop and immediately began a search on "How to cheer up your partner." 


	29. “But how else do I ‘cheer you up’?”

John stood in the shower for a few minutes, letting the water wash over him, before beginning to clean his hair. He thought sleeping with Sherlock would help the nightmares stop. _How can I be hurt about the death of a man that's right beside me?_ He chided himself. Ten minutes later he got out of the shower and half dried himself off before slinging a towel around his waist and exiting the room. "Sherlock!" He called, walking into the kitchen to fix himself a cup of tea. "Bathroom's free!"   
  
Sherlock took a deep breath and closed his laptop. Some of the things he found in his research seemed pointless, but sentiment wasn't really his area of expertise. Quietly he stepped into the kitchen and came up behind John, reaching his arms around to pull him into a hug. It felt a bit awkward but he had been informed hugs were a good way to make someone 'happy' again.   
  
John froze. “Sh- Sherlock?” He mumbled. “What?” He wasn’t complaining, not really, just awfully awfully confused.   
  
Sherlock was blushing madly and was glad John couldn't see his face.   
  
"I was informed hugging makes people happy. Or happier at least. Is it working?"   
  
John pulled away. “Is this about this morning?” He let out a sigh, taking Sherlock’s face in his hands. “I’m fine, alright? You don’t have to do something that makes you uncomfortable to make me happy. That’s not how good relationships work.”   
  
"But how else do I ' _cheer you up_ '? I don't like it when you're upset, and you were upset when you woke up," Sherlock confessed quietly, awkwardly averting his gaze.   
  
“You being you cheers me up. Most of the time.” John added, with a glance to his eyebrow-hair-filled microwave. “And I get upset sometimes. Seeing you jump off a building in my sleep upsets me, even if I know it’s not real. But it’s fine, ok?”   
  
_Oh_. Sherlock hadn't even considered that his 'death' was what was triggering John's nightmares. _This is my fault then, technically_.   
  
He looked back at John with an apologetic expression and hesitantly brought his arms around John's waist for another hug. "I'm sorry," he whispered, voice barely audible.   
  
John wrapped his arms around Sherlock’s neck and kissed his cheek. “Oh Sherlock, you are forgiven. Always and completely forgiven.”   
  
Sherlock pulled away slightly, his eyes flitting down to John's lips. He leaned in, pausing slightly, and then continued, kissing John softly on his lips.   
  
John kissed him back slowly, clutching him tightly. “I love you.” He mumbled again Sherlock’s lips.   
  
"I know," Sherlock teased, brushing his fingers through John's hair. The scream of a tea kettle interrupted the moment, making Sherlock jump backwards as if he had been caught doing something wrong.   
  
John burst out laughing. “Your face.” He said, his breath coming in loud uneven pants. He picked up the kettle and poured out two mugs, not even giving Sherlock the option of saying no to one.   
  
Sherlock scowled and snatched the mug from John's hand. "Stupid kettle," he muttered, taking a long sip of the hot drink.   
  
John chuckled. “You are such an idiot sometimes.” He said, taking a sip of his own tea and walking in to his chair to scour the papers for a case.   
  
Sherlock huffed, but followed John and sat across from him, one leg thrown gracefully across the other. _Only John can call me an idiot and get away with it_ , he thought, taking another sip of tea. 


	30. “Do you want to dress me, Mr Holmes?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the second chapter I've posted today, make sure you don't miss the first one.

"Anything interesting?" The detective asked, referring to the paper in John's hands.  
  
John shrugged. “Not a thing.” He took out his phone. “Maybe there’s an email…”  
  
"We can't waste too much time today. We'll need a few hours to prepare for tonight's event."  
  
“A few _hours_ to get ready? What are you, a girl?” John teased. ”It’ll take me ten minutes.”  
  
Sherlock rolled his eyes and uncrossed his legs so that he could rest his elbows on his knees. "We will need to shower, shave, and dress. You will also most likely want to eat something before we go as it is not a banquet," he replied. Besides, he couldn't imagine the harassment he would receive from his brother if he and John did not show up impeccably groomed.  
  
John laughed. “Do you want to wash, shave and dress me, Mr Holmes?” He teased, blinking in feigned innocence. “In case I don’t do it right myself?”  
  
Sherlock flushed and averted his gaze. "I-I'm sure you won't need too much assistance," he stammered, trying to wipe away the images in his head.  
  
“I won’t need it but it might be nice.” John flirted in response, loving how embarrassed he could make Sherlock Holmes.  
  
Sherlock gaped, unable to come up with a witty response. "I suppose I could lend a hand," he replied awkwardly, hands fidgeting in his lap.  
  
John grinned and sipped his tea. "Alright. So if we leave two hours to get ready, how long do we have to do other stuff?"  
  
"About seven. Why?" Sherlock asked.  
  
John shrugged. “Curious. With seven hours, we could actually do a case.”  
  
"Only if you find something higher than a 6," Sherlock replied, leaning back in his chair as he waited for John's suggestions.  
  
John rolled his eyes. ”How about - no…. Or- no…. Or maybe- no… Ah yes. Man dead in room locked from inside. Shot wound at side of head, looks like a suicide but there’s no gun.”  
  
"Do they have any other details about the room?" he asked leaning forward, his curiosity slightly peaked.  
  
“We’ll have to go and see. But the room was completely emptied, it says. Bookshelves cleared, bed stripped, even the mattress gone, man dead on floor.”  
  
"Hmmm. I suppose this qualifies." Sherlock sat and pondered a moment before suddenly springing out of the chair and walking over to grab his coat. "Come on, John. We have a murder to solve."  
  
John beamed, standing up and getting his own coat.  
  
One cab ride later the two found themselves standing out front of a brick apartment building. Sherlock looked around as they waited to be let in, taking in the details of the location. Across the street from them was a large park, placing the nearest building about half a kilometre from them. There were a few trees, but they were quite scattered and located more towards the middle. The apartment building itself had a high wall running between it and the sidewalk, breaking only for the small pathways that led to the few entrances on the building's ground floor. He looked up and noted that all the windows opened outward. _Interesting_ …  
  
“Sherlock?” John said after five minutes of standing outside wondering what he was meant to be looking at. “Are we going in?”  
  
Sherlock looked around for another minute before acknowledging that John had said something. "Of course we are, John. Let's go," he said, ringing a random buzzer on the building.  
  
“Sherlock? What are you…” John trailed off with a sigh. _Why do I even ask?_  
  
A friendly old voice came over the speaker and Sherlock explained that they had lost their key. The woman kindly let them in after that, encouraging to stop by her place later for tea and biscuits. Sherlock flashed John a triumphant smile before pushing open the door.  
  
John rolled his eyes at his husband. “You’re ridiculous, Holmes.” He said softly as the door opened and they went inside. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will be the last chapter for a while. I'm in the airport right now waiting for my plane to Spain! I'll update as often as I can. When I'm home again (in just under two weeks), updates will continue daily as normal.


	31. “You’ll do fine, John.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After about half an hour wandering around, I finally found a wifi spot that wants to work. Here's the next installment of TMP. See you as soon as I can. Enjoy!

Sherlock chuckled and led John up the stairs and to the crime scene. The door was easy enough to spot as it was still marked off with yellow tape, but the door behind it was still open. _Honestly, does no one believe in crime scene contamination theses days?_ Sherlock thought as he ducked under the tape and entered the room.   
  
John hung back at the door, reluctant to go inside until he had Sherlock's permission. He didn't want to contaminate the scene. Or just generally get in the way, as he was prone to do.   
  
The body had already been removed, but Sherlock could recreate the scene as much as he needed to from the photos he had pulled up on his phone on the ride over. "Everything in the main room has been left untouched, all that's been taken is whatever was in his own room at the time. But how did they take it out? If the gun had been fired inside the room, it would have attracted attention someone would have seen them. Who reported the body?" he asked, not even aware that John hadn't follow him in.   
  
"A neighbour who was walking her dog past the door. The dog caused a ruckus so she broke in to check on the guy." John took the question as his cue to go inside and ducked under the tape.   
  
"So no one heard a gunshot then. Or at least, if they did it didn't come from in here." Sherlock trailed off and wandered over to the window, which was untouched. _Must have been left open then by the victim_. "John, do you know of any snipers that could shoot from that range?" He asked, indicating to the row of buildings on the other side of the park. The only location a sniper would have a clear shot.   
  
John walked over to the window and frowned at the gap. "I did." He said slowly. "Back in my day, I could easily have done it. But not many people could."   
  
"Well, it's safe to rule you out," Sherlock teased. "Any names off the top of your head?" He wandered over and inspected the bookshelves, looking for odd dust patterns. All he deduced from that was the presence of books and a few knick knacks. Why would they go through the trouble of taking everything?   
  
John shrugged. "It's been years since I've met with my army mates and, even then, I'd need to see the body to tell if the shot was army or professional."   
  
"The photos didn't give us a good picture of the wound. We'll have to stop by the morgue later. We also need a complete inventory of what was in this room. The thief was after one item in particular, but he took everything else in order to throw off the police. I want you to go and interview the neighbors. See what you can find out about our victim. I'm going to pay a visit to the Yard. We'll meet at St. Bart's in two hours," he said, completely forgetting about the serial killer that was supposedly out to get them. He was too absorbed in the mystery of the locked room murder.   
  
John nodded. “Alright. I’ll see you there.” He paused. “What do you want to know, before I spend hours asking questions only to find out they were the wrong ones to ask.”   
  
"Everything. Eating habits, job, recreational activities, was he ill? Was he actually friends with any of his neighbors? You can figure out the rest. You'll do fine, John," Sherlock said walking out of the room and into the hall.   
  
“Well I never would have asked about eating habits.” John grumbled, knowing Sherlock couldn’t hear him. He scurried to catch up with him, remembering the charade they were performing. “Good luck, love.” He said as Sherlock reached the stairs, kissing him briefly before randomly selecting a door among the four that surrounded their victim’s and knocking.   
  
Sherlock smiled and ducked into the stairwell. He dashed outside and hailed a cab, oblivious of a pair of focused eyes watching him from the drivers seat of a small hatchback. 


	32. “Change of plans, dear.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two days of wifi in a row. I feel blessed.
> 
> Sorry this chapter is so short. it’s supposed to build up the suspense a little. I actually feel horrible leaving you with just this when I have no idea when I can post the next chapter, but _c'est la vie_.
> 
> Next chapter will be up the second I next get wifi.  
> Liz xx

John smiled warmly and questioned directly and quickly, refusing tea and checking his watch every five minutes. After an hour and a half, he decided to head over to Bart’s and texted Sherlock.  
  
[ _How’s it going, love? See you in the morgue in half an hour, ok? JW_ ]  
  
He wasn’t waiting long for a reply.  
  
[ _Change of plans, dear. I'll meet you at the gallery opening tonight. SH_ ]  
  
[ _Is everything alright? JW_ ]  
  
[ _Perfectly fine, dont worry. I look forward to seeing you later. SH_ ]  
  
[ _Clearly not if The Great Mr Holmes forgot an apostrophe. JW_ ]  
  
 _There’s a GPS on the phone_ , John remembered hurrying to a cab. “221B Baker Street.” He said. “Fast as you can.”  
  
[ _ah. my mistake. i suppose i dont need 2 worry bout these stupid initials anymore tho._ ]  
  
 _There is seriously something wrong_. “Wait here. Please.” John begged the cab driver as they pulled up on Baker Street. Not replying to the text, he bounded in the door of the flat and pulled open his laptop, searching for Sherlock’s phone. Once he had a location, he flew back into the cab and told him where to go.  
  
[ _u really should just get ready for the party dr. watson. sherlock will be so disappointed not to see you there_. ]  
  
John almost chuckled at the text. As if he’d ever do that. Whoever had Sherlock was clearly an idiot. “Faster.” He told the taxi driver. 


	33. “Step away from my husband.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The views expressed in this chapter are by no means the opinions of the author.
> 
> Sorry if the Sherlock's captor’s speech is hard to read.

"Time to move, freak. Lover boy is on 'is way," a gruff voice teased, nudging a chained up consulting detective with his foot. Sherlock shot him a glare, but couldn't offer any words with the gag in his mouth. He was stupid as to not notice the odd behaviour of the second cab driver that had picked him up from the yard. By the time he realized something was off, the 'cabbie' had swerved, causing Sherlock to bang his head against the window. While he was disorientated the driver pulled over and introduced him to a healthy dose of chloroform. _It should have been obvious. No matter. I just have to wait for an opening and then escape. He's an idiot so it shouldn't be long_.  
  
 *******  
  
John knew that once Sherlock’s kidnapper suspected John was on his way, they’d move. But luckily for him, John arrived before anyone would have time to do so. He paid the driver more than was necessary and thanked him before running into the warehouse, gun in hand.  
  
 *******  
  
"Your ‘usband's a quick one, I'll give ‘im that. S’pose it was to be hexpected; ‘is bein’ an ex-soldier an’ all. Then again, ‘e's a fuckin' queer so who knows ‘ow good of a soldier ‘e actually was," the voice ranted, dragging Sherlock along by a belt wrapped around his throat, as if he were some sort of dog. Sherlock scowled as much as he could with the gag in his mouth. He wanted to shove the man, trip him, or something but every time he stepped closer his captor would turn and sock him in the ribs and yell something about ' _learning ‘is place_.' By the fifth incident Sherlock grew tired of the pain and decided to think of a new plan. He was eyeing an unsteady pile of crates when John appeared from around the corner, looking ever the soldier and extremely pissed off.  
  
John cocked the gun and pointed. “Step away from my husband.” He growled at the two men, hoping - praying - it would be this easy. “I don’t want to have to hurt you.” But he did. One look at Sherlock and he wanted to rip both men limb from limb and burn them alive.  
  
The one holding Sherlock's leash yanked it forward and pulled out a knife to hold against Sherlock's throat. The other yanked out a gun and aimed it at John. "I don' fink so, doctor." he sneered. "Why don' you put the gun down and come wiv us. We plan to hescort you and your 'usband ‘ere to the next world."  
  
The belt around Sherlock's throat cinched a little, making it difficult for him to get enough air breathing through his nose alone. His eyes flicked down to his captor's arm and back up to John, offering a silent apology.  
  
John could have burst into tears. He put the gun down and stepped closer to them, thanking God that he’d remembered to call the police before going inside. “Do whatever you like to me.” He said slowly. “But, for your sake, don’t hurt Sherlock.”  
  
"Bit late for that, doc," the gunman replied stepping closer to John, gun still aimed at his head.  
  
Sherlock watched on with wide eyes. _Just run, John. Run_.  
  
The man behind him chuckled a bit, loosening his grip slightly, giving Sherlock just enough space to move his head away and smash it backwards into the man's nose. His captor howled and held a hand to his face.  
  
The gunman turned.  
  
Three shots were fired. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be home on Thursday. I may be able to post once before then but don't count on it. Sorry.


	34. “Of course I’m fucking going with him.”

John dived for his gun and shot the gunman in the chest. He didn’t need to bother with the man holding Sherlock’s leash. The idiot assassin had managed to shoot his own coworker right between the eyes in his frenzy. The third bullet had gone into Sherlock’s thigh. John was at his side in an instant, tearing off his jumper to press against the wound. “Sherlock?” He said, kissing the man all over his face. He dropped the cloth for just a second to remove the gag and loosen the belt. Then he returned his focus to the bullet inside his husband.  
  
Sherlock gasped as air was allowed to flow back into his lungs. The gasp turned into a pained groan as the bullet wound made itself known.  
  
"J-John." he stuttered, clenching his eyes shut in an attempt to will away the searing pain.  
  
“I know, my darling. I know. There’s an ambulance on its way. Should be here in -” He looked at his watch. “90 seconds, if your previous calculations are correct.” He began doctoring around, giving Sherlock the occasional soothing kiss and murmuring to him the whole time.  
  
Sherlock focused on John's calming touches. It hurt to speak and he was sure he would have bruises around his neck, so he stayed silent. He would return John's kisses when his lips were close enough and one hand was placed on John's thigh, the nearest limb that wasn't busy trying to keep his blood from pouring out. Right on schedule the sound of hurried feet echoed from the direction John had come in. A couple paramedics followed by Lestrade and a few officers came wheeling around the corner. Lestrade froze at the sight in front of him, but the paramedics rushed over. One went to talk to John while the other examining the other two bodies.  
  
John reluctantly stood back and let the paramedics handle Sherlock. Both of the other men were pronounced dead at once. He walked over to Lestrade and explained everything to him, hoping he wouldn’t get charged with murder.  
  
 *******  
  
"By the sounds of it, they shot first. You were acting in self-defense," Lestrade said after listening to John's story. The paramedics had loaded Sherlock onto a stretcher and were wheeling him towards the exit of the warehouse. "Are you sure you don't want to go with him?" he asked, looking at John with slight concern.   
  
John glanced at Lestrade, incredulous. “Of course I’m fucking going with him. He’s my husband.” John said indignantly. “Good day Detective Inspector. I’ll see you soon.” He said and climbed into the ambulance.  
  
Lestrade watched the ambulance drive off, mouth open in slight disbelief. Sherlock Holmes and John Watson finally got their act together. Who the hell would've thought? He shook his head and turned around, spouting out orders to his officers to secure the scene. 


	35. “You big gorgeous idiot, I love you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the airport. On my way home. About to murder family. Miss my laptop so very very much. Longing for solitude.

Sherlock was on the verge of losing consciousness, although the voices coming from the blurs above him were yelling at him to stay awake. He didn't want to stay awake. He wanted to sleep. He also wanted John.   
  
The doctor sat in a corner of the ambulance, fighting the urge to stand up and start helping. He reached forwards and took Sherlock's hand, squeezing slightly. _I love you_ , he tried to convey through wordless action. _You big gorgeous idiot, I love you_.   
  
The paramedics worked quickly to stabilize Sherlock's vitals as the ambulance drove on. Shock brought on by the blood loss was their biggest worry, as they informed the blonde man that had climbed in with them. They gave Sherlock a mild sedative to help bring down his breathing and heart rate and applied another set of bandages to absorb the blood before they finally reached the hospital.   
  
Sherlock was unable to process most of what was happening to him, his mind fuzzy from the effects of the sedative. He remembered his hand being embraced by something warm, firm, and safe. _John._ He remembered the disorientation he felt as he was removed from the ambulance and rushed into the hospital. He remembered the blur of fluorescent lights as they zoomed by overhead. The last thing he remembered, though, was the slight panic he felt when the comforting feeling around his hand disappear as he was propelled through the doors of the A &E. _John!_   
  
Sherlock was slipping away. John squeezed the man’s hand tighter, as if that action alone could bring him back to life. Nurses dragged John away from the stretcher as Sherlock was pushed into the operating room. This situation felt all too familiar to John. He collapsed on a chair outside the theatre and buried his face in his hands. He couldn’t handle losing Sherlock twice. That alone would probably be enough to kill him. 


	36. “Can I see him?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fell asleep last night before I could post this. I _will_ be posting one tonight as well hopefully ( _we're back to the one-chapter-a-day schedule. Yay!_ ).
> 
> I know _nothing_ about gunshot wounds. The next few chapters are probably wildly inacurrate but for the sake of the plot, that's the way they are.

It was hours later when the surgeon stepped out into the hall, scanning the few faces that spotted the room. "John Watson-Holmes?" he called.  
  
John’s heart was hammering as he stood up. “Yes?” He replied, throat dry as he headed over to surgeon, really not feeling ready for any sort of news.  
  
"Mr Watson-Holmes, I'm Dr Stringent. First off, I'm pleased to say your husband is still alive. He was brought in with a bullet wound in the upper quadrant of his thigh. We were able to remove it, but the surgery was touch and go as he had lost a decent amount of blood by the time he got to me. We had to restart his heart once and then wait for his vitals to settle before we continued," the doctor explained, waiting for John to process the current information.  
  
John nodded easily keeping up with all this ‘doctor speak’. “It's Doctor. How long is he here for? And for how long will he not be able to walk?” _Sherlock not able to walk? He’s going to be unbearable._  
  
"We'll want to monitor him for at least three days, just to make sure the wound doesn't get infected. In regards to his ability to walk, there wasn't any permanent damage that should prevent him from doing so, although some nerve damage might make it painful to put weight on it for a while. Physical therapy will help with that. I recommend two weeks of bed rest minimum before he starts, though."  
  
John nodded. “I’ll make sure he gets it too. Thank you. Can I see him?”  
  
"Of course. The nurses are moving him into a private room, but I can take you there. He'll still be unconscious, but you can sit in the room with him so long as you let him rest." The doctor turned and led John down the corridor. They stopped in front of room that still had the door open and the doctor signaled to John to wait as he went in to let the nurses know that John was allowed to stay.  
  
As the doctor came back out and waved him inside, John had to physically restrain himself from bounding in to recheck all the places Sherlock had been hurt in case they'd missed something, or got it wrong or- He took a deep breath and walked calmly into the room and, after pressing a kiss to Sherlock's forehead, sat down, taking out his phone to text everyone to tell them his madman husband was ok. 


	37. “I believe I may have injured my leg.”

There were many odd sounds that reached Sherlock's ears when he started regaining consciousness. There was a steady beat that echoed in rhythm with his heart. The buzzing of fluorescent bulbs scratched at his ears and an occasional * _ping_ * of a text alert made his eyes clench in annoyance. He slowly let his eyes flutter open and greeted the world with a tired groan.   
  
“Sherlock!” John’s phone fell to the floor in his haste to get to the bed. “How are you?” He kissed Sherlock’s lips once, twice, then proceeded to pepper kisses across his face, the fear of never being able to kiss the man again still fresh in his mind. “I was so worried about you.”   
  
"J..John," Sherlock replied in between kisses. "John, I'm fine," He lied. He figured step one should be calm John down before admitting to any pain.   
  
John took a step back, nodding without believing Sherlock in the slightest. "Right. Personal space. Sorry." He mumbled, eyes on the floor.   
  
Sherlock looked at the man with a slight frown. "John, I - that's not what I meant. Come here," he said with a shall blush. He held one hand out towards his husband, but he kept his eyes slightly averted, not used to actively seeking physical contact.   
  
John took a hesitant step forwards, pulling his chair over, right beside the bed so he could sit close enough to Sherlock to satisfy them both. "How are you feeling?" He murmured, the fingers of one hand tracing Sherlock's jaw line.   
  
Sherlock leaned into the touch, grateful for the distraction it was providing. "I believe I may have injured my leg." He replied. As if it was waiting to be acknowledged, the bullet wound began emitting a low, painful, throb, causing Sherlock to press his lips together to keep from releasing another pitiful groan.   
  
John chuckled. "Yes, you have. And you gave me quite a scare, you tosser." He said fondly. He realised that Sherlock was probably trying to use his touch as a distraction from the pain so he continued stroking the ivory skin. It felt like silk to his calloused fingers.   
  
"I'm sorry," Sherlock murmured, letting his eyes close as he relaxed under John's caresses.   
  
"I'm just glad you're ok, love." John smiled. There was a long silence; John was enjoying Sherlock's peacefulness too much to ever want to talk again.   
  
"I suppose this means we won't be able to go to the gallery opening," Sherlock said after a while. The pain in his leg had started to dull, but now he could feel how much it hurt his throat when he talked. Gingerly he reached up one hand and palpated his neck, noting the obvious aches of a bruise. _Lucky I always have my scarf to - Wait, they took my scarf. Did we get it back?_   
  
"No we won't be able to and-" John picked up the blue scarf from his lap. "- is this what you're looking for? Greg dropped it and your coat over an hour or so ago."   
  
Sherlock heaved a sigh of relief at the sight of his beloved scarf and coat. "I suppose I owe Lestrade a thank-you of sorts," he said, letting his head fall back on the pillow. _I suppose I could solve a cold-case for him or return one of his badges._   
  
John laughed. “I think it would be thank you enough to sit in bed and get better and not nag him about cases until you’re mobile again.”   
  
Sherlock scoffed at him "I don't nag. I pester. There's a difference," he said, flashing John a teasing grin. "Speaking of being mobile again, how long is it supposed to be until I'm allowed to walk?"   
  
John had been dreading this conversation since Sherlock woke up; assuming that the man would throw a tantrum. But his detective seemed to be in a fairly good mood. “You’ll be in here for three days and then-” The doctor had said two weeks but John was probably more used to bullet wounds. He stretched the truth. “- three weeks’ bedrest once we get home.” 


	38. “I found your birth cert.”

"Three weeks? I'm expected to be sedentary for three weeks? I'll go mad!" Sherlock exclaimed. "Clearly the doctor was exaggerating, they tend to do that. Something about 'optimal healing time'. I bet I can be moving again in less than one."   
  
John glowered. “If you think I am going to let you out of bed on anything less than twenty-one days, you’ve got another think coming, William Sherlock Scott Watson-Holmes.” He tried not to smile at the name. He was trying to prove a point after all.   
  
Sherlock gaped at him. "How did you? Who told you my first name was William?" He asked, immediately going through a list of suspects in his head and the best way to get back at each one.   
  
John burst out laughing. “Mycroft left me alone in his office. I found your birth cert.” He leaned down and kissed Sherlock’s knuckles one by one. “I think it’s adorable. You definitely look like a bit of a William.”   
  
Sherlock's face was caught between a blush and a scowl. "It's all well and good that you proved yourself capable of stealing information from my brother, but I'll have to ask that you never call me by that name again."   
  
“Oh?” John said, cheekily raising an eyebrow. “And what are you going to do about it if I don’t?” He caught Sherlock’s gaze and held on as if for dear life, wanting to either watch the man beside him turn into an embarrassed mess or a flirtatious genius (and curious as to which it would be).   
  
"Nothing. Just don't. Please," Sherlock replied, the blush long gone and a small frown in it's place, eyes looking almost pleadingly back at John before shifting to look the other way.   
  
John frowned, confused. “I… Of course I won’t, Sherlock.”   
  
Sherlock didn't say anything right away, the atmosphere becoming a bit awkward.   
  
He cleared his throat after a few minutes and decided a change of topic might be in order. "So...any chance I can get out of here before three days?"   
  
“Even if they let you or an opportunity arises for you to leg it, not a chance.” John said firmly. “Three days at least.”   
  
"But, _Jawwwn_." Sherlock whined, pouting slightly. It wasn't necessarily a dignified move on his part, but desperate times called for desperate measures. And, in his mind, being stuck in a hospital for seventy-two hours qualified as desperate times.   
  
John chuckled. “If you complain, I’ll make sure you stay for four.” He threatened, only half joking.   
  
Sherlock huffed and narrowed his eyes, trying to assess whether or not John would actually do such a thing. The odds were not in his favor.   
  
"Fine, but I refuse to be a hundred percent responsible for my own behavior during my stay. You know how well I do being forced to stay put."   
  
“I know.” John nodded. “But if you’re good, I’ll let Lestrade bring some cold cases in.” He said, in a sing song voice. He leaned forwards and brushed his lips to Sherlock’s.   
  
Sherlock hummed and tilted his head up to meet John's lips for a chaste kiss. "I'll hold you to that, Dr. Watson," he murmured, smiling as he moved in for another gentle kiss.   
  
John didn’t reply. His eyes fluttered closed and he kissed Sherlock slowly, trying to apologise through movements for his frantic-ness earlier.   
  
Sherlock brought his hands up to lightly wrap them around John's back, parting his lips slightly to allow John to deepen the kiss if he chose. This kiss felt different from all the other ones they had shared so far. It was gentle, but full of passion, a bit of relief, and a hint of barely contained desperation. He began to wonder what exactly had happened while he was out to cause John to be this way. His hands began running in soothing motions along his husband's back, silently telling him that it was all going to be fine.   
  
John pulled away. “I know it’ll be ok. I just… You lost a lot of blood, Sherlock. The others were pronounced dead at the scene and I thought maybe…” He buried his head in the crook of Sherlock’s neck. “I thought I’d have to watch you die again.” He said, blinking back tears.   
  
Sherlock blinked once in shock, letting John's words sink in, before trapping John in a tight embrace, almost causing the man to fall on top of him. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to put you through that again." he said, planting chaste kisses on top of John's head.   
  
John shook his head slightly. “It wasn’t your fault, Sherlock. I don’t blame you in the slightest.” He tried to move away but was blocked by Sherlock’s arms. “You gonna let me go, babes?” He teased.   
  
Sherlock flushed, but his only movement was to secure his grip around the shorter man. "Nope. I've decided you should be trapped here with me."   
  
John chuckled. “I kind of need to piss, Sherlock.” He whispered. ”I didn’t want to leave in case you woke up while I was gone. They don’t give bedpans to visitors.”   
  
Sherlock frowned, but slowly began to loosen his lanky arms. "Fine. But you better come back soon." He murmured, letting himself fall back onto the bed. He yawned once as John stood up and realized whatever painkillers they had him on were probably starting to kick back in.   
  
John smiled at the (frankly adorable) sight. "I will." _Even if you don't know I'm here_. He turned at left the room, only pausing briefly at the door to glance back at Sherlock.   
  
Sherlock watched John leave through half-lidded eyes, mentally cursing the speed of the medication. He fought to stay awake, but with every blink of an eye it became harder and harder to get the open again. He fell asleep just as he heard a pair of feet slowly step into his room. _Probably John_ … He thought, letting darkness take him.   
  
It wasn’t John. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another cliffhanger. I feel evil. Sorry guys, but things are about to get a whole lot more complicated for our Baker Street boys.


	39. “It would be so easy to have you… removed.”

John had got lost on the way back from the toilets and had got chatting to a pretty nurse (He barely noticed the ‘pretty’ at the time though). He ended up buying two teas in the hospital café before returning to the room. When he entered the room, he froze. There was a man by Sherlock’s bed that John didn’t recognise.  
  
“I suppose you’re the John Watson my son’s been... _working_ with.” The voice was gruffer than he’d expected. Sherlock’s father? He remembered the conversation with his husband’s mother and quickly and fluidly slid his wedding ring into his pocket.  
  
“Yes, sir. I am.”  
  
Mr. Holmes turned his head to the side and eyed John from head to toe with a depreciating gaze. Once he had finished his brief analysis he turned his sights back to his sleeping son on the bed. "There's no point in trying to hide it, Dr. Watson. You're little 'engagement' with my son has already been made a public spectacle." He smeared the word 'engagement' as if it left a foul taste on his tongue, his face contorted with a look of disgust. "In fact, it's the very reason I am here right now."  
  
The scowl Mr Holmes received could have made Sherlock proud. “If you’re here to lecture him, leave.” He growled. “Your son has just been shot, the last thing he needs is more stress. If you want to yell and scream, direct it at me because I’m not letting you near him.”  
  
The older man scoffed and turned quickly on his heels to face John directly. "Yell and scream? As if I would resort to such primitive forms of expression. Indeed, my original intention was to speak to my son, but since he has so foolishly gotten himself injured, again, and is ‘hopped up on painkillers’ so to speak, I suppose I will have to talk to you first. By no means do I plan to allow on my son, a Holmes if only by blood, to drag the family name further into the mud by keeping up this charade. You and William will speak to Mycroft and have all records of this atrocity erased. I am willing to offer you monetary compensation in exchange for doing so, including paying for you to move out of London, ending any sort of affiliation you have with my son. Understood?" he asked, his voice confident and unwavering as if he couldn't think of any possible reason John would turn down his generous offer.  
  
John raised his eyebrows at the man and burst out laughing. “I am in love with your son, Mr Holmes. You could offer me every penny on this earth and I would not leave him. I am not going to leave him until he looks me in the eye and tells me he wants me gone.” He stepped closer, all humour gone, and growled. “Leave.”  
  
Mr. Holmes glared down at the man in front of him with the utmost contempt. "I was attempting to keep this transaction civil, _Dr_. Watson, but do not make the foolish assumption that I am not capable of resorting to other means of getting what I ask for. You are a danger to my son and my family's reputation and it would be so easy to have you… removed. After you are gone, I can reteach William what it means to be a Holmes," He said, voice terrifyingly silky. His voice was kept low and quiet as to not attract the attention of the nurses, but it was still loud enough to reach Sherlock's ears. The half-sleeping detective couldn't process the words, but the noise the two were making was enough to make him begin to stir.  
  
Mr. Holmes ' _tsked_ ' at the rousing figure and took a quick look at the clock. "It is unfortunate, but I am running short on time. Do tell William that I will be stopping by again very soon," he threatened before walking briskly past John and out the door, not once looking back. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eeek.


	40. "No one of consequence."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So we're 2 fifths of the way i and the party's only just getting started. Finally, some real actual pain for the boys to go through. It's been too quiet in 221b.

John glared after the man, taking his seat again. “Sherlock, love, are you alright?” He said to the still drowsy detective. He really hoped the man had been unconscious for that entire encounter. Mr Holmes would be back but there was no point in worrying about that until it happened.  
  
"Mmmnnn. John?" Sherlock groaned. He slowly tried opening his eyes, but everything seemed too blurry and too bright, so he kept them closed. _Why did I wake up again? Oh, yes. There were voices. John’s was one of them, I think. The other - The other sounded familiar too_.  
  
“I’m here, love.” John assured him, taking Sherlock’s hand in his own. _Please don’t ask about the argument. Please don’t ask about the argument_.  
  
"Hmm. John, who else?" Sherlock asked groggily. He happily began drumming his fingers over the back of John's hand as he waited for an answer. _Maybe it was Lestrade. But the voice was thicker, deeper. Lestrade with a cold?_  
  
“N - no one of consequence. Do you want tea?” John quickly changed the subject, picking up his own paper cup and taking a swig.  
  
Something about John's response set off warning lights in Sherlock's head, but he was too out of it to pay them any heed. Instead, Sherlock nodded in response to his question and tried to remember how to sit up. Nothing was really cooperating with him at the moment.  
  
John waited patiently for Sherlock to sit up and handed him the cup. “There you go. Two sugars and a spot of milk.” He avoided Sherlock’s face, not wanting to catch the man’s gaze.  
  
Sherlock took a short sip, pleased that he had managed to avoid spilling any on himself. As he continued to drink he became more and more conscious of his surroundings. When all of his tea was gone, he handed the empty cup over to John for him to dispose of. "I detest pain medication; too much grogginess," Sherlock muttered, rubbing the sleep out of his eye. "Oh, yes. Speaking of being groggy, I believe I was asking you about the other visitor from earlier. The one I think you were having a bit of a row with."  
  
“There wasn’t anyone here, Sherlock.” John lied as smoothly as he could, staring at his shoes.  
  
"You know you're a terrible liar," Sherlock commented, eyes focused intently on his husband. "Who was it?"  
  
“Your father.” John mumbled in a small voice, looking up to meet Sherlock’s piercing gaze.  
  
Sherlock's eyes went wide and his mouth fell slightly open. _Father was here? He met John? No, no. Shit. Damn it. I knew he'd find out, but I didn't think he'd act so quickly or in person. Shit._ "Did he - What did he say to you?" Sherlock stammered out, his hands clenching the bed sheets tightly.  
  
John leaned forwards and kissed Sherlock’s forehead. “Don’t worry about it, ok? It was nothing I couldn’t handle.” Probably not the best time to mention that the man would be coming back. He sat back in his seat. The look on Sherlock’s face told him that was not enough information. “He kindly offered to pay me handsomely to leave London and never see you again. I told him all the money in the world couldn’t make me even consider leaving you.”  
  
Sherlock was touched by John's words, but they also troubled him. "You turned down his offer? John, I truly appreciate your reasons for doing so but you may have made a mistake. My father is not a man to take 'no' for an answer, especially in a matter such as this," Sherlock explained. In his mind he was rapidly going through every feasible option they had of escaping his father's wrath. Most of them involved fleeing the country, just to avoid the certain death that awaited them here.  
  
John frowned. "What should we do then? Because he's going to be coming back." He paused. "He's really not going to let us stay together, is he?" He asked in a quiet voice.  
  
"No." Sherlock replied, wishing he could pull his knees to his chest and curl away into a ball like he use to do when he was small. Originally, before he was aware of the true extent of John's feeling, his contingency plan for when his father found out was to simply file the divorce and be done with it. But now... Sherlock's breathing was growing faster and shallower as his mind supplied him with the numerous cruel ways that his father could take John away from him. For each situation he tried to create a counter-plan, but none of them allowed for them to be alive and together when it was all over. _I don't want to lose John. I don't want to see John die. I don't know how to beat him though. I can't solve this one._ Breathing was getting harder and harder and he could hear his heartbeat hammering wildly away. He hadn't had a panic attack like this since the days before he left Holmes Manor.  
  
"Sherlock!" John exclaimed. He took a step back, so as not to crowd the man. "Sherlock, breathe." He said, voice softer now, quiet but firm. "Slowly. Sherlock, can you hear me? It's going to be okay. We can do this, alright?"  
  
"John, I - You don't understand. You don't know what he's capable of. I don't know how to stop him! He's going to take you from me and I'll be completely useless!" He shouted. Flashbacks from childhood surged through his mind, recalling every instant in which his father had to remind him of what it meant to be a part of the family. The one time when he was a teenager and actively defied his father's rules... and the consequences he suffered for doing so. His body was starting to shake and he knew he needed to calm down soon or else risk passing out.  
  
"Sherlock." John repeated. "There's no point trying to solve this when you're in this condition. I'll ring Mycroft and we'll think of something. Please try and calm down."  
  
Sherlock closed his eyes and focused on taking deeper breaths. After about a minute or two he was breathing normally, though still slightly shaking. His clammy hands fisted into the sheets as if they were a lifeline. He was terrified. He was also beginning to feel a little bit embarrassed for losing control like that in front of John.  
  
Without looking up he stammered out a shaky apology. "S-sorry, John. I'm calm now."  
  
John took his seat again and reached out to Sherlock tentatively. "Don't apologise, love. It was by no means your fault. But I promise you we'll work this out. You're mine now and I'm never letting you go." John promised, his voice steadier than he felt. "Not for anyone. What's the worst he could do anyway?"  
  
Sherlock let out a humorless chuckle. "When I was eight I had a dog. I called him Redbeard. My mother had managed to convince my father somehow to let me have him, but he always hated it. He warned me that if the dog ever got in his way, he wouldn't hesitate to get rid of it. I took him seriously and for a few months everything was going so well. I made sure father never caught sight of the dog. I built him a doghouse in the back yard. I fed him, taught him tricks, took him exploring with me in the woods. He was the closest thing I had to a friend," Sherlock explained, smiling sadly at the memory of his dear pet. The smile was quickly replaced with a solemn frown as he prepared to explain what happened next. "Then one day... It was my fault, really. Father had taken us to have brunch with another family and I had ended up getting in a fight with their youngest son. That had been the first time I was called a... a freak. I explained my reasons to father and he said the boy wasn't wrong. That I should have known to just accept it and had now shamed the family. He took me home to punish me, which wasn't anything new, but this time it was worse. I panicked and fled and he chased after me through the house. I escaped to the backyard and he still followed. Redbeard... He - he tried to protect me. He got in father's way and then father got rid of him."  
  
John froze. "Sherlock... I'm so sorry." He said softly. "But I promise you we can work this out. Go back to sleep. I'll phone Mycroft." He leaned forwards to press a kiss to Sherlock's lips. "I love you."  
  
"I love you too," he whispered, moving his hand to grab John's and holding tight. He laid back down again without argument, the stress and the drugs working in combination to deplete his energy. He closed his eyes and kept John's hand close, only loosening his grip when he once again succumbed to sleep. 


	41. "I fear what sort of effect losing you could have on my little brother."

As soon as John could move he stood up and left the room, closing the door behind him and taking out his phone.   
  
"Mycroft?" He said after dialling the number. "Your father found out."   
  
"Well it's not as if you two tried to hide it. I believe the whole point was to make your engagement public to lure out a serial killer, was it not?" Mycroft replied coolly. On the other end of the line he was reaching into a secret cabinet beneath his desk and pulling out a bottle of old whiskey and a small shot glass knowing that he was going to need it. "I presume he tried to bribe you into leaving?"   
  
"Yes. I said no, obviously." He paused. "I'm not going to end up like Redbeard, am I?"   
  
"That might be exactly how you're going to end up, John, if we're unable to find a way to stop him. I fear what sort of effect losing you could have on my little brother. It was only after Redbeard died that he started refusing to eat regularly. The nanny and I were relieved when we got him to eat a single piece of bread a week after the incident," Mycroft explained, taking a small sip of the golden drink, grimacing as it burned it's way down his throat.   
  
John started pacing outside the room. "What can I do? What can _we_ do? I'm not going to leave him. It would kill him. And me."   
  
"You can start by keeping calm. You were a soldier for goodness sake, a captain even. Act like one. Your mission will be to protect yourself and my brother. I can give you four men to assist. In the meantime I'll talk to my mother and see if she can convince father to drop it, but we shouldn't expect anything. She wasn't really one to care. Ultimately we'll have to prepare ourselves for battle," he said with a sigh.   
  
John stopped pacing and nodded before realising Mycroft couldn’t see him. “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” He said automatically, in a cold soldier voice. “I… Thank you, Mycroft.” He repeated, more genuinely. “I really appreciate this. I love your brother very much.” He clicked the phone off. He couldn’t face going back to Sherlock’s room just yet so he strolled down to the morgue to chat to Molly, hoping for some sort of a distraction. 


	42. "When have I had time?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. Long chapter today. Well, long for my chapters. How awesome is that?

Sherlock woke up later dripping in cold sweat and breathing hard. He had just woken from a nightmare, a replay of the story he had told John earlier. Except instead of Redbeard, it was John that was put down right before his eyes. He clenched his eyes shut and blinked away the tears that threaten to fall. He couldn't let his father win. If he did, neither he nor John would survive.  
  
The room was dim, a fact Sherlock was grateful. He turned and looked around the room, trying to see if John was around. He wasn't in his chair. _Maybe he went to the bathroom. Or to talk to Molly. His jacket is here so he didn't leave_ , Sherlock deduced, trying to quell the worry in the back of his mind that something might have already happened.  
  
About three minutes later, John appeared. One look at Sherlock and he was the man's side, kissing him as if he were a china doll about to break and murmuring sweet nothings against his soft lips.  
  
"H-how was M-Molly?" Sherlock asked, hoping that a meaningless conversation would help take his mind off of the nightmare. He needed to calm down. _Focus on John_.  
  
John understood Sherlock’s ‘distract me, please’ and sat back into his seat. “She’s fine. Working herself to the bone as usual. She’s going to pop up after her shift. I had to convince her not to bring a bucket of eyes with her.” He paused. “What do you do to that girl?”  
  
Sherlock shrugged. "She's always seemed to have been infatuated with me. I've never returned the sentiment, but a few compliments every now and again go a long way." He leaned back against the headrest and closed his eyes in relief as he felt his heart rate slow back down to normal.  
  
John rolled his eyes. “You don’t think it would be fairer to let her go? Stop her hoping for something that’s never going to happen?” He sighed. “She asked me if we were getting a divorce now that the case was over. So you didn’t even tell her it was real?”  
  
"When have I had time? Besides, it's not my fault she won't accept reality. She's smart enough to see I'm not interested, she just chooses not to," he replied coolly.  
  
John smiled softly. _At least he complimented her; that’s more than most would get_. “Well just tell her when she comes up, ok?” He begged of Sherlock. “And if she refuses to accept it, that’s her problem but…” An idea struck him. “Any chance we could convince your father this is just for a case?”  
  
Sherlock gave him his ‘ _are you serious?_ ’ look. "He'd ask for specifics. We'd have to invent a new case and then we'd have to keep up the lie for the rest of his life. The chance of him believing us anyway his infinitesimally small."  
  
John shook his head. “We’d have to get a divorce. Believe me, I don’t want to, but we would. We can come out to the entire world saying it was for a case. And then,” He sighed. He really didn’t want to do this. “Keep our relationship inside the flat. Strictly behind closed doors.”  
  
"Would you really be ok with that? Lying to everyone? Not being able to say that I'm yours?" _And that you're **mine**_.  
  
John sighed again. “If that’s what it takes to keep you, then yes. I’d do anything to avoid losing you.” He was liking this plan less and less the more he talked. “We’ll need to make the divorce very public and then…” His heart sank. “I’m going to need to start dating again.” He said very slowly.  
  
Sherlock's heart clenched in a momentary bout of jealousy at the thought of John spending time with other people, flirting with them… _kissing_ them. He didn't want to lose John, but sharing him seemed almost as painful. _What if he finds someone he likes more than me?_ Sherlock's confliction must have been written on his face because the next thing he knew John's arms were back around him.  
  
“Never.” John promised into his ear. “I could never find someone I love more than you. Believe me, I really hate that part of the plan but otherwise it just won’t be convincing.” He kissed Sherlock’s lips. “But there will never be anyone else.”  
  
Sherlock brought his arms up to return the hug, squeezing tightly. He gave John a kiss, slow, but firm. _This may be the last chance I have to kiss him until we get back to the flat._ Pulling away, he let out a sigh, looking down before reluctantly nodding. "We can get the divorce. Mycroft can handle the paperwork. Then we'll have to try and convince father."  
  
"We have to make the divorce a big thing, Sherlock. We have to go and get it done ourselves." John bowed his head to rest his forehead against Sherlock's. "I love you." He murmured, in case Sherlock had forgotten.  
  
Sherlock frowned and cast his eyes downward. "I know." He took a deep breath and let it back out before talking once more. "We'll need to call a lawyer. Have them draw up the divorce papers then."  
  
John nodded, wondering why the hell he was letting Sherlock go after all the time he'd pined for him. "Maybe..." He whispered. "Maybe there's another way to do this." He never wanted to go on another date again. He wanted to kiss Sherlock in the middle of the street or when he was being particularly brilliant. He wanted the whole bloody world to know that Sherlock Holmes was his. And that he was Sherlock Holmes'. There had to be a way.  
  
Sherlock sighed and shifted his gaze back up to John. "Another way that doesn't involve my father threatening at least one of our lives? He's like a mountain in the wind, nothing you could say could possibly change his mind," Sherlock muttered. He then leaned forward to bury his face in John's chest, wanting to hide the sadness and frustration that were playing across it. "I apologise for bringing you into this mess, John. It was idiotic of me not to consider how he would respond to these events. I promise I will do everything I can to try and keep you safe from him."  
  
John shook his head. "Don't you worry about me, love. We'll do something. Even if that means getting a divorce. Anything that means I don't have to leave you." He ran his fingers through Sherlock's hair. "I promise you I will never leave you."  
  
"We’ll need to decide on a plan soon. Who knows how long it will be until he comes back," Sherlock said, pressing his head against John's hand. "We can get a divorce and pretend the whole thing was fake or go to war with what may very well be the most powerful man in the history of London. What will it be?" Sherlock asked, ignoring the quiver in his voice when he mentioned fighting his father.  
  
“We have to get a divorce.” John murmured, frowning. Trying not to cry, in truth, though he’d never admit that. He took Sherlock’s hand in his own, their matching rings clinking, and looked down at their entwined hands. “But we can get married again, can’t we? If he dies.” He met Sherlock’s gaze, begging.  
  
Sherlock chuckled at John's question. "I never thought you would be one to wish for someone else's death, John."  
  
John giggled, despite the situation. “I’m not wishing him dead.” He protested weakly. “It’s just that, from what I can tell, he was horrible to you. And he’s now trying to mess with my marriage. So, I’m not going to go out of my way to make anything happen but I don’t think I’d be very upset if it did.” He kissed each of Sherlock’s knuckles in turn.  
  
"Hmm... I wouldn't be very upset either," Sherlock agreed. "If there is ever a point in which he is no longer around to interfere, I will gladly marry you again, John Watson," he murmured, pulling John's hand towards his own lips to return the gentle kisses.  
  
John smiled sadly. "You should get some rest, dear. I won't go anywhere." He kissed Sherlock's forehead and reluctantly disentangled himself from his grasp.  
  
Sherlock maintained contact for as long as he could, finally letting his arms drop when John was out of reach. Gingerly he laid himself back down, yawning as he did so, and rested his head against the pillow. He watched as John settled himself in the chair and sighed. "I love you, John," he whispered before he closed his eyes and allowed the medication to lull him back to sleep.  
  
“I love you too.” John murmured, knowing that Sherlock could no longer hear him. He took out a book that he had borrowed from Stamford and began to read. It was dreadfully dull book he had borrowed about an ‘epic love story’ (Mike really had the worst taste in books) but John could barely concentrate anyway so it didn’t matter. Every few seconds he glanced up to check on Sherlock, eyes often lingering longer than they should to study the beautifully peaceful face. 


	43. "He's saved me as much as I've saved him."

A little while later there was a gentle knock on the door, announcing the presence of Molly Hooper. She was dressed in her work attire, held a "Get Well Soon" card in one hand along with a small gift bag. "Ah, hi John," she greeted, lowering her voice when she realized Sherlock was sleeping.   
  
"Hi Molly." John whispered back. "Sherlock's just fallen asleep, I'm afraid. You can wait if you want but it could be another hour or so before he wakes up." John smiled wearily. "I'll tell him you stopped by if you want to go." He offered.   
  
"I, uh, yeah. I can't stay long anyway. I just wanted to give him this gift," she said, holding up the card and bag. "What about you, John? You've been here since he was brought in. Do you need someone to take over for you so you can get some rest?" she asked, as she moved forward to place the items on the bedside table.   
  
John shook his head. "Thanks for your concern. But I'm not leaving him. I promised him I'd be here when he woke up."   
  
Molly offered him a quiet smile and looked over to the peaceful figure on the bed. "You are a really good friend to him, you know. I'm glad he found you. We all are."   
  
"Believe me; no one is more glad than I am." John said softly, gazing somewhat longingly at Sherlock. "He's saved me as much as I've saved him."   
  
Molly smiled and then caught sight of John's gaze, one she knew all too well. She looked down and cleared her throat. "Um, well, I should just be going then. Got some errands to run and silly things like that," she said, inching her way toward the door.   
  
John frowned at Molly's sudden change in tone. "Is everything ok?" He asked, more curious than concerned.   
  
"I - Yeah, of course! " She stammered, tucking a piece of hair nervously behind her ear. "I'm just, um, in a rush. Tell Sherlock I said hi. And l-let me know if you need anything, John," she said before turning and bustling out the door, doing her best to process what she just saw.   
  
John sat back in his chair. _What if Molly suspects_ -? He groaned. This plan would never work. He was in far too deep to be able to pretend to not love the man at all. 


	44. "I want to kiss you."

Sherlock was having another odd dream. It wasn't a nightmare, well at least not so far, but it was disconcerting none the less. He had seen John, standing on the sidewalk, smiling cheerfully at him and holding out his hand. Sherlock smiled back and moved to take it, but John had vanished right before he could do so. Sherlock looked around frantically, trying to figure out where his husband had gone, and finally spotted him across the street, smiling and holding out his hand. "John?" Sherlock called before crossing the street. Once he was close enough he moved to take the hand, but once again it vanished. "John?" he called again, trying to relocated the man. He blinked and found himself in a different place. _Piccadilly Circus_ , his mind supplied. He spotted John immediately, holding the same pose as he had before, but this time John called his name. "John," Sherlock called back, walking quickly to get to him. Someone bumped into him, throwing him momentarily off course. Once he had corrected himself another person did the same thing. There was suddenly a sea of people between him and John. He heard his name called again. "John! John, I'm over here," he called back, starting to panic as the crowd between them continued to grow. "John!"   
  
John was just drifting off when Sherlock began moaning his name. _Nightmare_. He was up in a flash and by Sherlock's side, shaking him softly. "Wake up, Sherlock. Wake up." He whispered, urgency and panic creeping into his voice.   
  
In the real world, Sherlock was starting to sweat and his breathing was ragged. "John," he called again, his face clenched into a worried expression.   
  
In his dream the crowd had turned on him now and was pushing him away, far away from John. He could barely make out his blonde head, but he could still hear his voice. "Sherlock! Sherlock, wake up!"   
  
_Wake up?_   
  
John still shook him. The damn man wouldn't wake up. "Wake up, love. Please. Don't do this to yourself. Come back." His voice was thick; he hated seeing Sherlock so distressed. Especially when there was nothing he could do.   
  
_Come back? Come back where? I must be dreaming, it's the only conclusion that explains everything_ , Sherlock thought, even as the dream crowd continued to push and pull him back, further into the depths of his mind. _If it's a dream I need to wake up. I need to get back to John._   
  
"Love, please." He heard John's voice call. It sounded so worried. Sherlock closed his eyes and focused, using John's voice as a lifeline to guide his way back to the waking world. "Sherlock, please, wake up," he heard, followed by a blinding light and then darkness.   
  
He could hear John more clearly now, murmuring soothing words into his ear. John's voice cracked and Sherlock forced his eyes to open enough to see his husband bent over him, holding him in a tight embrace. Slowly Sherlock brought up his own arm and placed it on John's back, letting him know that he was awake.   
  
"Sherlock!" John breathed in relief. "I'm sorry." He murmured, hugging Sherlock close, wishing he could protect his husband from everything, inside his own mind and out. "I'm so so sorry."   
  
Sherlock returned John's embrace, clinging on to him tightly. He could no longer remember what happened in the dream, but he knew that it involved John. He wasn't sure if he wanted to let the man go anytime soon. "What are you sorry for?" he asked, honestly confused by John's repeated apologies.   
  
"I know how awful bad dreams can be. I'm sorry you had to go through that." John mumbled, nuzzling softly into Sherlock's temple.   
  
"Oh. It wasn't your fault," Sherlock whispered, leaning his head into John's. "Thank you for waking me."   
  
"Always." John promised. He paused. "I want to kiss you." He admitted, almost under his breath.   
  
Sherlock's eyes flickered to the door, which had been closed, and then back to John's face, focusing minutely on the ex-soldiers firm lips. "I want to kiss you too," he whispered back, tentatively moving his own lips closer. He knew they shouldn't, that they should begin to get use to hiding their relationship in public, but the temptation was so strong. _John is mine. Why shouldn't I be allowed to show it?_   
  
John moved his own lips closer to his detective's plush ones, but not close enough to touch. "I think Molly figured out that I'm in love with you." He murmured.   
  
Sherlock blinked once and then frowned. "Did she say anything?"   
  
"No.” John shook his head, his nose brushing against Sherlock's as he moved. “But she caught me watching you and upped and left pretty soon afterwards.”   
  
"You do have a tendency to watch me with 'doe eyes', John" Sherlock teased, but his eyes still reflected his concern. _Would Molly tell anyone?_   
  
John huffed, but he was grinning. “Took you long enough to figure out, O All-Observant One.” John teased lightly, kissing Sherlock’s nose.   
  
Sherlock blushed, but countered by pecking John on the lips. He froze, however, once he realized what they were doing and dropped his gaze down to his lap.   
  
John groaned. "I know, Sherlock." He murmured. "I know we shouldn't but... maybe there's another way around this." He sat back in his seat, still holding the detective's hand.   
  
"I'm just... I don't want to risk losing you, John. This feels idiotic. I want to be with you, so why shouldn't I be allowed to? Why do I have to be a silly grown man who is still afraid of his own father," Sherlock spat out, clutching John's hand tightly. "Why can't he just let me be?"   
  
"You're not silly, Sherlock. If your father is as powerful as you and your brother say then we're right to be scared." John assured him. "But we will find a way out of this. We'll use divorce as a last resort." He squeezed the man's hand comfortingly.   
  
Sherlock offered John a soft smile, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. He only hoped whatever plans his father have would be held off long enough for his leg to be healed because in his current state he wasn't sure how he could possibly protect John. As much as he hated to admit it, he would have to rely on Mycroft for help. Sherlock sighed, closing his eyes and leaning back on the bed. He had a lot of planning to do to make sure they were prepared for his father's attack. 


	45. "I leave myself in your capable hands, Dr. Watson."

No attack came.   
  
Sherlock was discharged from hospital and John somehow managed to keep him in bed for two and a half weeks before the man refused to sit still any longer.   
  
“Sherlock, I told you. Three weeks. Could you not stay in bed for three more days?” John glared at Sherlock over the top of his computer. He loved his detective dearly but that didn’t change the fact that he was a stubborn dick most of the time.   
  
"No, John, I could not. If I never had to lay down again it would be too soon," Sherlock muttered, focusing intently on not falling over as he hobbled across the room for the fifth time in the last half hour. John had told him that after three weeks of bed rest he could begin physical therapy, but boredom and impatience led Sherlock to decide that there would be no harm in getting a head start.   
  
John rolled his eyes and reached under his chair. He pulled out his old walking stick. “Here, love.” He said, holding it out. "It’ll make walking easier.”   
  
Sherlock frowned slightly at the out held cane, but swallowed his pride and reached for it anyway, mumbling a quiet thank you. He walked a couple more laps, practicing with the cane (secretly pleased to find the exercise was now less painful), before finally coming to rest on the couch. He sat so that his injured leg was laid out in front of him, the other dangling over the edge as he began to carefully massage the tight muscle in his thigh.   
  
John came over and knelt before him, removing Sherlock’s hands and replacing them with his own. “I know how it feels to need it. But you cured me and I will do the same for you.” John promised.   
  
"I suppose in that case," Sherlock began, leaning back to make himself more comfortable, "I leave myself in your capable hands, Dr. Watson," he murmured, closing his eyes as John's hands began kneading the tender muscle, gently coaxing out the pain and tension and letting it dissipate into nothingness. He hoped that John was right; that he could be cured like John was ( _Even though John's limp was purely psychological whereas I have an actual wound_ ). He already missed running around London, chasing criminals across rooftops, and even just walking around with John. He was Sherlock Holmes and he was _not_ made to be cooped up in a small flat, injured or not.   
  
John sat up, hands still working, and, with a wary glance towards the door, kissed Sherlock tenderly. He understood Sherlock’s frustrations; he’d gone through something very similar. He knew at the moment he himself was Sherlock’s only pastime (the violin lay abandoned because the detective couldn’t pace while he played) and couldn’t let an opportunity like that pass.   
  
Sherlock pressed back into the kiss immediately, almost desperately. John's kisses had become a welcomed distraction from the pain and the stress his injury had brought him. His passion doubled when he remembered that every kiss they shared had the possibility of being being their last. He raised his hands to wrap them tightly around John's waist, pulling him closer. The pain in his leg was long forgotten as he moved to deepen the kiss, seeking entrance to John's mouth with his tongue.   
  
John parted his lips, moving his own tongue against Sherlock’s, eyes fluttering closed. He dropped his grip on Sherlock’s thigh and tangled his hands in the man’s hair, pulling him ever closer.   
  
They had announced to the public, not seeing another choice, that the marriage was fake and they would be getting a divorce as soon as Sherlock was able to leave the flat. John had been trying to come up with an alternative but he had nothing. No way of keeping Sherlock his husband and keeping him safe. The doctor knew that Sherlock’s father was unlikely to believe them and almost expected him to walk through the door at any moment. Each kiss grew more and more frantic as time went on and the elder Holmes did not appear.   
  
Sherlock broke apart for air, panting heavily. He looked up at John's face, taking in every inch of the wonderful man that had married him, the wonderful man he would never be able to call his own again. He leaned forward and pressed his head against John's chest, taking calming breaths.   
  
"John, there's been something on my mind since I left the hospital. It, um, concerns the current state of our marriage." He spoke quietly, keeping his face tucked away so that John couldn't see.   
  
"Sherlock?” John tried to keep concern from his voice. “What do you mean?” He began stroking the dark locks in front of him, trying not to panic.   
  
"I... I'm not sure how to go about this. There's one thing that I realized I wanted us to do before... while we're still married," Sherlock babbled. "Or at least something I wanted to try."   
  
John frowned. “What’s that?” He asked, leaning in to kiss the crown of Sherlock’s head.   
  
Sherlock took a deep breath. "I want to try engaging in sexual intercourse again."   
  
John nodded. “Are you sure?” He mumbled into Sherlock’s hair. “Because I would wait forever for you to be ready. I don’t want to do something that you’re not comfortable with.”   
  
"No. I want to try while we're still married. I _want_ to be intimate with you. We could try tonight, if you want. After dinner." Sherlock suggested, figuring it would give him plenty of time to work out his nerves.   
  
John hesitated. “Sherlock… Don’t rush into this. Being married isn’t the be all and end all; I will love you just as much after the divorce. Please, love. Think it through.”   
  
"I've thought about it for over two weeks, John. I've thought about it every moment we've kissed, every time you've held my hand, when you've held me as I slept. We've been living in fear for the past two weeks of _that man_ walking in and ripping us apart. I don't - I don't want to risk that happening before I've had the chance to give myself to you, completely. I want, just for a moment, to be completely and utterly yours, legally and physically."   
  
John sighed and cupped Sherlock’s chin, tugging his head gently so their gaze met. “I love you.” He said slowly, kissing him. “Tonight. If you think you’ll be ready.” John murmured against Sherlock’s lips. His heart pounded in his ears. _Tonight_. 


	46. "I was a soldier, remember? I’ve killed people.”

_Tonight_. Sherlock thought, smiling softly as he moved in to kiss John again. The thought alone was making his stomach do flips. _What if I panic again? What if I don't enjoy it? What if he doesn't enjoy it? No. Stop. Breathe. It'll be fine. It'll be better than fine. Calm down. How do I calm down? There's always the classic British approach..._   
  
Sherlock pulled away slightly and looked up at his adoring husband. "John, could you make me some tea?"   
  
John chuckled. “Of course I can.” He kissed Sherlock’s nose and stood up. “One mug of liquid heaven, comin’ right up.” He walked into the kitchen and flicked the kettle on.   
  
"With milk this time, please," Sherlock called from the couch, smiling slightly as he leaned back and relaxed, flexing his outstretched leg.   
  
John poked his head around the door and winked at him. “When do I ever forget the milk?” He asked.   
  
"Four months ago, after the bicycle case," Sherlock answered immediately, wearing his trademark showoff grin.   
  
John chuckled. “You mean the case where you made me stay away for almost ninety hours in one go?” He chided, jokingly. “You can’t hold me to that, baby, I wasn’t exactly sane by the end of that.”   
  
"I still remember you getting into an argument with the head in the freezer," Sherlock laughed. "I believe that was why you forgot the milk," he said with a wide grin.   
  
John shrugged, carrying in two steaming mugs from the kitchen. “No sleep in ninety hours; I think I would’ve argued with a wall.” He grinned and held one mug out to Sherlock.   
  
"You almost _punched_ a wall," Sherlock recalled, taking a sip of his tea. "Remind me never to tick you off when you're sleep deprived," he said with a smirk.   
  
John sat down beside Sherlock. “Maybe you shouldn’t tick me off full stop. I was a soldier, remember? I’ve killed people.” He teased.   
  
"You were a doctor, you _saved_ people," Sherlock teased back. "Besides, we both know you would never hurt _me_ while in your usual state of mind, so your threat is invalid."   
  
John rolled his eyes. “True, true. But just because I won’t hurt you, doesn’t mean I won’t hurt Simon.” At Sherlock’s frown, John grinned. “Simon. The head in the freezer. But I won’t discriminate. Any of your experiments would do instead…” He sipped his tea as menacingly as he could.   
  
Sherlock's mouth hung slightly open. "You wouldn't." he said though not thoroughly convinced, narrowing his eyes at the jumper-wearing villain before him. "And Simon? Really?"   
  
“You going to take the chance to find out?” John asked him, one eyebrow raised. “And yes. Simon. He looked like a Simon, don’t you think?”   
  
Sherlock scanned for clues on John's face that would verify how legitimate the threat was. With a pout and leaned back in defeat and took another sip of his tea. "Simon is still a ridiculous name for a decapitated head," he muttered.   
  
“I wouldn’t have to name them if they didn’t keep showing up in my bloody kitchen.” He protested only half jokingly.   
  
"You did offer to buy me a separate fridge for experiments, remember?" Sherlock commented, smiling as he remembered the deal John had offered him weeks ago.   
  
John nodded. “I remember. And as long as they stay away from me, I’ll stay away from them.” He pressed a kiss to Sherlock’s cheek. “What do you want to do today?”   
  
"We could bother Lestrade for a cold case," The detective suggested. "He hasn't given me any thing in weeks."   
  
John grinned and patted Sherlock’s good thigh, standing up again. “I’ll make the call.” He picked up his phone from the mantelpiece and dialled the number. After a minute he closed it again. “He’s on his way. He’s got what sounds like a five from the nineties. That ok?”   
  
"At this point, I'd take anything. How much do you want to bet I can solve it in under an hour?" Sherlock asked with a mischievous grin.   
  
John giggled and kissed him. “We’re already having sex tonight.” He teased. “What else is there to possibly bet?”   
  
Sherlock blushed, stammering as he tried to come up with a response. "The loser could, um, buy dinner."   
  
John laughed. “Oh Sherly. Getting you flustered is far too easy.” He kissed him again. “Go get undressed, love. You need to shower before I change your bandages so you’re sparkly when Greg gets here.”   
  
"Sparkly?" Sherlock scoffed. "I don't sparkle." He set his tea cup down on the side and swung his leg of the couch, bracing himself for standing.   
  
John chuckled. “I’ll make sure you do.” He grinned, watching Sherlock stand up and holding out the cane for him once more. “Forgetting something, love?”   
  
Sherlock sighed and took the cane, reluctantly putting his weight on it as he hobbled over to the bathroom. 


	47. "You're just trying to 'fatten me up'."

Once inside the bathroom, he rested it against the sink before moving to unbutton his shirt.   
  
John followed to wait outside the door. “Don’t get too naked, baby, I still need to undress your leg.” He said, somewhat flirtatiously.   
  
Sherlock flushed as he sat down on the edge of the tub to ease off his trousers. All that was left on were his underpants and the bandages on his leg. "Y - You can come in," he called through the door, sitting awkwardly as he waited for John to enter.   
  
John stepped inside and frowned, kneeling in front of Sherlock again. He traced his fingers over his husband’s protruding ribs. “You need to eat more, Sherlock Holmes.” He murmured, concern in his voice.   
  
Sherlock frowned and hunched over a bit, hiding his prominent ribs from sight. He had been eating less than usual since his father's visit at the hospital, instinctively punishing himself even though he hadn't done anything wrong. "I'll eat tonight," he whispered, hoping to ease John's worries.   
  
“Yes, you will.” John agreed. “And every night until I say you can stop.” He was probably being more firm than he should but he didn’t care. He kissed the back of one of Sherlock’s hands, fingers unwinding the bandage around the detective’s leg.   
  
"You're just trying to 'fatten me up'," Sherlock muttered. _I didn't eat every night in the past either. I'm not going to be hungry._   
  
His eyes drifted down to where John worked unwrapping his leg. Slowly, the twisted, mottled flesh came into view. The stitches had been taken out a few days ago, leaving nothing but an angry scar.   
  
“I wouldn’t ask you to do this if I didn’t think it was for your own good, Sherlock.” John told him gently. He leant up and planted a brief kiss on Sherlock’s lips. “Now, tell me when you’re out so I can put it back on, alright?”   
  
Sherlock nodded and whispered a quiet thank you as John stood and walked out into the hall, closing the door gently behind him. After a moment, he moved to take off the remainder of his clothes. He reached behind him to turn on the shower and waited until it reached an acceptable temperature before swinging his legs into the bath and cautiously standing up. The torrent of warm water felt good on his aching muscles, pounding out all the nerves, stress, and worries that riddled his being. He redirected the shower head so he could lean against the wall as he began washing.   
  
John sat at the table in the kitchen, waiting for Sherlock’s call. He was worried, scared even, for tonight. He was worried Sherlock wouldn’t like it, or that he’d hurt him, or that… There were so many things that could go wrong. But if Sherlock was convinced he was ready, John was perfectly ok with trying.   
  
Sherlock turned off the shower with a reluctant sigh. The warm heat was replaced with cool air, making him shiver slightly as he reached one hand out to locate his towel. He wrapped it around his waist before carefully maneuvering himself over the lip, though once he had he came to a realization. He hadn't brought in a change of clothes. _I'll have to get dressed in my room then. But John needs to replace my bandages. Should I do it now? but I'm only in a towel, I feel more exposed. I'm going to be completely exposed tonight though. This can be a trial run_. Sherlock gripped the towel around his waist tightly as he took a calming breath. “J - John. I've finished," he called, sitting himself back down and waiting. The flutters in his stomach felt like hurricanes.   
  
John was the door in a moment. He knocked and entered, smiling at Sherlock. "Hi, love." He said softly, walking towards him, bandages and antibiotic cream in hand. He knelt down in front of Sherlock and warmed up a small amount of cream between his palms, spreading it carefully on Sherlock's wound. He then began wrapping the bandage around Sherlock's leg. "Lestrade will be here in fifteen minutes." John said softly. "Are you sure about tonight?"   
  
"I want to try," he replied resolutely, though he subconsciously clenched the hand that was holding onto his towel. He had stiffened initially when John's hands had began applying the cream, each touch setting off sparks in the nerves. He managed to relax a bit more by the time he had started applying the bandages. "Please," he added in a softer voice.   
  
John nodded. "Of course. But you just say the word and we'll stop, ok?" He secured the bandage in place and looked up at Sherlock, waiting for an answer.   
  
"Ok." Sherlock murmured. He reached out one hand and placed it on John's shoulder, using the smaller man to steady himself as he stood up. He needed to get dressed before the detective arrived. It wouldn't do for Lestrade to walk in and spot John on his knees in front of a half-naked Sherlock if they were going to keep up the 'just flatmates' ruse.   
  
John smiled as Sherlock leaned on him, glad to be of assistance. As soon as Sherlock was steady, John, still kneeling, leant forward to press a kiss to Sherlock's skin just above the hem of the towel. "I love you." He murmured, looking up at the face of his detective.   
  
Sherlock's breath hitched slightly at the unexpected contact. It's only John. It's just John. Besides, that was somewhat pleasurable. "I love you too," he whispered back, casting John a soft smile.   
  
John stood up himself. "Now." He grinned at Sherlock. "Go get dressed." He demanded, opening the bathroom door and waving Sherlock out of the room.   
  
"Yes, sir," Sherlock teased, hobbling down the hall and into his own room. He dressed himself in what was slightly more special that his usual attire: the black trousers that hugged his arse and made John drool deliciously, a pearl grey shirt just tight enough to show his figure, and a form-fitting jacket that wouldn't crease badly when it became a rumpled mess on the floor. He stood as well as he could in front of his mirror, smoothing out his clothes, and shivered in anticipation. Satisfied, he began limping out of his room and back towards the living room, wincing slightly as he took the first few steps. His leg was getting tired under all the strain and he was suddenly feeling eager to sit back down again.   
  
John was in the kitchen and grinned at him as he passed. "Tea?" He asked, already knowing the answer and setting the kettle on to boil.   
  
"Yes. Please." Sherlock made it back to the couch and sat down, relieved to take the weight off his leg. He felt he would be content just sitting here for the rest of the day. _Physical therapy can continue tomorrow_.   
  
John’s head popped around the door of the kitchen. “Did you just say please?” He said with mock horror. The kettle dinged and he disappeared again to add water to their mugs.   
  
Sherlock rolled his eyes and made himself comfortable on the couch. "I suppose you shouldn't get use to it," he teased back, closing his eyes to focus on ignoring the throbbing in his leg. _I wonder if it was like this for John after he got shot._ He thought. _No wonder he would get irritated when people asked about it._   
  
John reappeared moments later. “Now that would never do.” He giggled, handing one mug to Sherlock and placing the other two on the coffee table. There was a knock on the door downstairs. Lestrade. John leaned in and kissed Sherlock. He sighed. “Just flatmates again.” He said ruefully, walking to the door. 


	48. "People might talk.”

Sherlock sighed and sat up a bit straighter, putting on his old mask just as John was leading Lestrade up the stairs. "What do you have for me?" he asked, not bothering to say hello as the detective inspector passed through the threshold.   
  
Lestrade winced. “One is all I could get my hands on. It's a tough one though.” He said, pulling up a chair and placing the file on the table. ”1989. Two murders done on each side of the city, both victims had exact same time and cause of death.” He pushed the file closer. “Tell me what you think.”   
  
Sherlock sighed a bit, disappointed by the number, but took up the file anyway and began reading, collecting all the details and organizing them in his mind palace. _Males, knew each other, worked in the same company, simultaneous heart failure._   
  
John, after a careful glance at Lestrade (who didn’t look John’s way), watched Sherlock closely as he worked, smiling what must have been a terribly doe-eyed smile. He couldn’t help it. The brilliant man on the couch was _his_.   
  
"It was the HR assistant," Said brilliant man on the couch announced after a couple minutes of careful thought. He flipped the file closed and slid it back over to Lestrade. "Looks like you're paying for dinner, John," he said triumphantly.   
  
John glared at him as Lestrade glanced between them. He obviously didn’t think there was anything to it and shrugged and left the flat with a brief thank you to Sherlock. As soon as the door closed, John rounded on Sherlock. “You can’t say things like that, Sherlock. People might talk.” Those words. John winced. They tasted bitter on his tongue, reminding him of a time when it hurt to so much as look at Sherlock because of how he felt. He had hoped so very much that he'd never have to say them again.   
  
"What? Flatmates don't share meals?" Sherlock asked innocently while wondering how to keep himself busy for the rest of the day. _Need to stay occupied until tonight_.   
  
John rolled his eyes. “You were flirting with me.” He protested. “And even though that’s kind of usual for us, we have to be extra careful now.” John scooted closer. “I’ve booked the meal for six. So what do you want to do for the next three hours?”   
  
Sherlock shrugged. "I was hoping the case would take me longer than that to solve... I don't really feel like moving right now, so walking around town isn't an option." _I suppose there's always crap telly_ , he thought with a grimace.   
  
John smirked. “Or we could just…” He trailed off and began planting kisses along Sherlock’s jaw. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry that was such a short chapter, it felt like a fairly natural break.   
>   
>  I just posted the first chapter of my first kidlock/teenlock fic ([ _This is How We Spent the Summer_](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1990887/chapters/4312476)). I'll be posting a chapter a day of that for the next two weeks (as well as this, don't worry). I'd love if you guys could check it out. 


	49. “Your lips are far more interesting.”

Sherlock gasped, but rolled his head to the side to allow John more access. He hummed as John placed one kiss on the pulse point.   
  
John groaned against the skin. “I wasn’t aiming for your neck, Sherlock.” He protested, reaching out to turn Sherlock’s head towards him. “Your lips are far more interesting.” He brushed them with his own.   
  
Sherlock blushed, he could feel his pupils growing wider as John's breath danced along his skin. He leaned forward to place a soft kiss and followed it almost immediately with something a bit firmer. His lips were already parted, encouraging John's to do the same.   
  
John smiled as his tongue tasted Sherlock’s. He tangled one of his hands into Sherlock’s hair, the other snaking around his waist, tugging him closer.   
  
Sherlock moaned quietly as his tongue played with John's. He let his own arms wrap around John's back, his hands clenching the back of John's jumper.   
  
John sat up onto his knees and, without breaking the kiss, straddled Sherlock. He didn’t sit on his lap, not forgetting about the bullet would, but cupped Sherlock’s face, for once feeling taller than him.   
  
Sherlock felt John smirk against his lips and pulled away to assess the new situation. "What are you so pleased about?" he asked, rubbing his nose affectionately along John's jaw.   
  
“You.” John replied simply. “You’re mine and…” He grinned cheekily. “I like feeling taller than you.”   
  
Sherlock shot him a teasing glare. "Do you now? Maybe I should carry around a box for you to stand on next time we go to a crime scene, or have to take pictures for the press. Perhaps that will correct people's misconception about my height," he said with a grin.   
  
John pouted. “Shut it you.” He glowered, leaning in to steal another kiss. “I am plenty tall. It’s not my fault you’re the height of Big Ben.” The doctor crashed a kiss to Sherlock's irresistable lips.   
  
"That's... a perfect... example... of a miscon...ception," Sherlock got out between clashes of lips, tongue and slight hint of teeth. "Besides... I think your height is perfect."   
  
“Then… don’t say I need… a box.” John replied, teasing. He moved his lips to Sherlock’s jaw line, kissing along the skin over the cut-throat bone.   
  
Sherlock's mouth hung open as he leaned back, closing his eyes and relaxing under John's teasing actions. He managed to relax his hands enough to run them over John's back, tracing his fingers up and down the line of his spine.   
  
John opened two of buttons on Sherlock's shirt and kissed down the detective's neck to his collarbones, kissing a gentle line along each one.   
  
Sherlock's breath hitched as John's lips ghosted over the front of his neck, kissing across his clavicle. His heart rate had increased, and he could already feel his blood starting to pool south. He felt either excited or nervous (possibly both) mixed with a dash of fear. He managed to dampen the feeling of terror by focusing on whose lips were teasing his skin. _This is John, my husband. I love him and he loves me. He will not hurt me_. A faint smile graced his lips and he felt John begin to kiss his way back up Sherlock's neck, lightly tugging at some areas with his teeth, making Sherlock gasp and tilt his head back further.   
  
John, as if sensing Sherlock's unease, pulled away for a moment, staring into those crystal eyes. "I will always, _always_ , love you." He promised, cupping Sherlock's face in his hands. "And I would die before I hurt you." He pressed a kiss to Sherlock's forehead with a small smile. "You are the most beautiful person I know." He murmured.   
  
"John." Sherlock breathed, gazing in awe up into the blue eyes of the weathered soldier. _My soldier. My John_. He couldn't think of anything proper to respond with, so instead he reached up and gently cupped John's cheek, pulling him down into a sweet, tender kiss. _I love you_.   
  
John understood and kissed him slowly, concentrating of the softness of Sherlock’s lips, the mint on his breath, his tea-tasting tongue.   
  
At that point, something clicked. Sherlock realized he really did want to move on to the next level with John. _I am ready for this_. He pressed deeper into the kiss, pulling John as close to him as possible. _I trust you completely._   
  
John noticed the change without quite comprehending it. He decided to ask later; this kiss was their most perfect yet, there was no way he was ending it early. He massaged Sherlock’s tongue with his own and slipped his hands back into Sherlock’s hair.   
  
Sherlock moaned and brush the underside of John's tongue with his own. He pulled the muscle back and bit down softly on John's lower lip, pulling at it lightly before releasing it to go back in for another kiss.   
  
John relaxed against Sherlock, pushing him into the back cushion of the couch. He tugged softly at Sherlock’s curls.   
  
Sherlock let John tug his head away, trailing his lips away from John's mouth and down to his neck. He stopped just beneath John's jaw and sucked lightly, teasing the skin with his teeth.   
  
John tilted his head and bit back a gentle moan. He flushed suddenly as he found himself growing hard, realising Sherlock must be able to feel it. He moved away slightly out of embarrassment.   
  
Sherlock looked at John, slightly puzzled, but only for a second as he realized why John had backed off. He blushed and bit his lip, eyes cast down and to the side. "Tonight," he murmured, slowly shifting his eyes to look back up at John.   
  
“I know.” John murmured with a smirk. “Guess I’m just looking forward to it.” He rested his forehead on Sherlock’s. “What did you realise mid make-out session?”   
  
Sherlock smiled softly and look shyly into John's eyes. "I remembered how much I love you, that I trust you completely. And I realized that I am completely ready for tonight," he whispered, lightly massaging John's back with his fingers. _I want this; I need this._   
  
John smiled down at him and kissed his nose. “I’m glad. I could tell you weren’t certain before and that made me scared too. But if you’re sure then so am I. I love you.”   
  
"I'm sure," Sherlock replied, flashing a broad smile. He placed a chaste kiss on John's lips, though his aim was a little low and he ended up pecking John's chin, but the effect was all the same. "I never plan on letting you go," he whispered, gripping John's shirt tightly to demonstrate his point.   
  
John groaned softly, not really complaining. “But my knees are getting sore.” He teased. “And what happens if I need to use the bathroom.” He paused. “And speaking of that general area, I don’t think he’s going away soon either.”   
  
Sherlock looked past him at the clock, noting that they still had plenty of time. He leaned back again, blushing madly. "Well. I suppose I could, um, assist with that."   
  
John flushed. “No no. I need my energy for tonight.” He smiled. “I’ll just stop looking at you and it should go away.” He leant down to kiss Sherlock softly. “Because the world’s just not exciting enough to keep me hard without you in it.” He mumbled against his lips. 


	50. "Of course I am; I'm John Watson."

Sherlock's brain seemed to short circuit for a moment and a small pulse shot through his groin. His lips moved, but nothing came out. _How the hell do I respond to that?_ he thought.  
  
John smirked at him. “Finally!” He teased. “I have rendered the great Sherlock Holmes speechless.” He kissed him briefly. “I can die a happy man.”  
  
Sherlock's eyes narrowed into a teasing glare and remembered his trick from a few nights ago. He brought his fingers around to John's side and wiggled them lightly against his ribs.  
  
“Sherlock!” John yelped, collapsing as carefully as he could to avoid the detective’s leg. “Don’t! You know what happened last time.” He protested breathless. “Don’t do this. Not before tonight.”  
  
Sherlock gave a half smile, amused by John's reaction, but sobered by the memory of being hit across the face. _I thought I had deleted that part_.  
  
"Alright, I'll stop." He gently rolled John off to the side and placed a kiss on his cheek. He then shuffled so that he was resting against the older man's shoulder, draping one arm across John's stomach.  
  
“I’m really sorry about that, Sherlock.” John murmured, sliding his arm around Sherlock’s waist and kissing his temple. “I would never do that on purpose. You know that, right?”  
  
"I know. You're good, John. You're far better than anyone else I've ever known."  
  
John beamed at him. "Of course I am; I'm John Watson." He teased. He glanced at the clock. "We've still got time to kill. What do you want to do?" He paused. "Maybe I should run to the shops, get some supplies for tonight? Would you be ok on your own?"  
  
Sherlock scoffed. "I'm not a child, John. I can take care of myself for an hour or two while you run your errands." Secretly, a majority of him didn't want John to leave his side, but he didn't want to seem needy. _Mycroft's men are still keeping an eye on us. They wouldn't let anything happen to him unless they never want to step foot in London again._  
  
John nodded, not thoroughly convinced. "Alright. Well, I'll see you soon, my love." He leaned in and kissed Sherlock's lips. "I'll be back as soon as I can. Text me if you're lonely." He teased. He pulled on his jacket and left the flat.  
  
The corners of Sherlock's mouth quirked up into a small smile as he watched John leave. As soon as the door closed, however, it morphed into a worried frown. _It'll be fine. He said he'll be back soon_. Sherlock let out a deep breath and slumped into the couch. He still didn't feel like getting up, but there was nothing to do either. _Maybe I can think up new experiments I can do after I get my new fridge_. He grinned and shuffled so that he was mostly laying down. He closed his eyes and entered his palace, opening a room labeled 'the lab'. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Halfway through guys! Goodness me. This story is so much more popular than I ever could have dreamed. Over 6000 hits! It’s incredible. I’d like to thank every single one of you; from my regular commenters, to my kudos-giving people, to the invisible ones who read what I spurt out every day. Love you all, Liz xx


	51. "In case you’ve forgotten; there’s a hole in your leg."

John got into Mycroft's waiting car and was driven to the nearest Tescos. Milk, bread, tea-bags, stamps, and... condoms. John took a death breath and texted Sherlock.   
  
[ _You wouldn't happen to know what size condom you need, would you? JW_ ]   
  
He fetched a basket and collected his other items and waited for his husband's response.   
  
*******   
  
Sherlock looked up at the text (he hadn't bothered sitting up so he was holding his phone over his head), and tilted his head to the side. _What size condoms do **I** need? I thought..._   
  
[ _I thought you would want to 'top'. SH_ ]   
  
Most of his past partners had done so, thinking it proved their dominance. He hadn't considered that it could go the other way around.   
  
[ _If this isn't a one-off thing, and I'm hoping it won't be, I'd say we both will eventually. I don't mind which happens tonight. It's entirely up to you. JW_ ]   
  
Sherlock furrowed his brows. He hadn't considered trying to make a decision like this. He had just assumed...   
  
_I want John to take me. I want to know what it's like to be that way with someone who actually cares. Will John think I'm weird for wanting to try it that way first?_   
  
Sherlock made a determined face. He had been thinking about this for over a week now and he didn't want to waste time thinking how it would be the other way around.   
  
[ _You can buy your usual. SH/ _]__   
  
*******   
  
John smiled at the phone.   
  
[ _Alright. I’ll be home in less than fifteen minutes. Everything ok? JW_ ]   
  
He picked up his usual packet of condoms and walked to the checkout (one with the people serving, not those demon-possessed machines). After paying, he exited the shop and climbed back into the black car.   
  
[ _I have not destroyed the flat in your absence, if that is what you are asking. SH_ ]   
  
John laughed softly to himself in the back of the car.   
  
[ _That’s not why I’m asking. In case you’ve forgotten; there’s a hole in your leg. JW_ ]   
  
[ _It has not let itself go unnoticed SH_ ]   
  
[ _Well hopefully you’ll be able to forget about it tonight. JW_ ]   
  
[ _I'll leave that to you, doctor. SH_ ]   
  
[ _You’re in good hands, Holmes. JW_ ] Sherlock grinned ear to ear and put the phone back down, turning his head to watch the door, eagerly awaiting for his soldier to come home. 


	52. "I do believe you know the meaning of the word horizontal."

John re-entered the flat a few minutes later and beamed at Sherlock, now lying, completely relaxed, on the couch. “Have you really not moved?” He teased.   
  
"Depends on what you qualify as movement," Sherlock shot back with a smug grin.   
  
John raised his eyebrows. “Oh?” He asked, shrugging out of his coat, kicking off his shoes and sitting beside Sherlock.   
  
"If you count movement as changing locations, then you would be right. I have not moved from the couch," Sherlock began to explain, lifting his head so he could lay it on John's lap. "However, I have changed positions."   
  
John began stroking Sherlock’s hair. “I see that. How’s your leg?”   
  
"The pain is dull, but it's still there. Annoying really," Sherlock said with a sigh, eyes cast down towards the offending wound.   
  
“Do want meds? Or…” John leaned down with a smirk. “… a distraction?”   
  
Sherlock thought for a moment before tilting his head to look John straight in the eyes. "Oh, I don't know. You're the doctor. What would you prescribe?" The flirting was making Sherlock feel a little giddy. He was truly enjoying this.   
  
John grinned, pretending to think. “I believe a more in depth examination of your case will have to take place, Mr Holmes. If you would follow me to your bedroom?”   
  
Sherlock's heart skipped a beat as the anticipation coursed through his veins. "O - Of course, Dr. Watson. After you." He sat up and swung his legs back onto the floor, leaning down to search for the cane he had been using.   
  
John stood up. “Let me walk you instead.” He said softly, holding out his hand.   
  
Sherlock looked up, his cheeks a light shade of pink, and gently reached out to grab the offered limb. "Thank you, doctor. You are most kind."   
  
John chuckled. “I do try.” He ducked under Sherlock’s arm and they made their way slowly into the detective’s bedroom. “Do you want to do this now? We don't have to wait until after dinner.”   
  
"I, um." Sherlock ducked his head and tried to think. He really wasn't sure. He had planned to do it after dinner, as it seemed more appropriate. But things had sort of developed this way. He felt awkward as he tried to decide what the correct answer should be.   
  
John sensed his hesitation. “We should wait.” He smiled. “There’s plenty more we can do with a bed, Sherlock.”   
  
Sherlock nodded, grateful for John's odd way of reading his mind. "W-what else can we do?" he asked.   
  
John smiled and led him to the bed. “How about a continuation of this morning but slightly more… horizontal?” He smirked.   
  
"That sounds like enough of a distraction," Sherlock replied, sitting down in front of John on the edge of the bed, arms pressed out behind him as he smiled up at his amazing husband.   
  
John grinned at him. “Come on, Mr Holmes. I do believe you know the meaning of the word horizontal.” He teased.   
  
Sherlock flushed, but rotated so he could lie flat on his back with his head on the pillow. He turned his head and looked at John for approval. "Will this do, doctor?"   
  
John smiled and climbed onto the bed. He lay down next to Sherlock, though half on top of him really, and leaned in to kiss him softly. “Perfect.”   
  
Sherlock grinned back and wrapped his arms lightly around John's back, reaching up for another kiss. John kissed him back, slipping his tongue into Sherlock's mouth. Sherlock hummed softly. He ran his tongue lightly along John's bottom lip, memorizing the taste and texture on his tongue. John let out a soft moan at Sherlock's gentle movements. He slipped one hand under Sherlock's shirt, gently massaging the skin.   
  
Sherlock's breath hitched, but he relaxed soon enough and allowed himself to press up against the hand. His skin felt on fire where John was gently running over it with his fingers   
  
John smiled at Sherlock's response. He placed soft kisses along the detective's jawline.   
  
Sherlock let out a breathy moan. He let his hands trail down John's shirt, tentatively plucking at the hem.   
  
John sucked a little of the pulse point on Sherlock's neck, an encouragement for Sherlock to continue. Sherlock tilted his head back to offer John more access. He took his cue and slipped a slender hand up the back of John's jumper, tugging it up as his fingers trailed along John's spine.   
  
John melted into the touch. "Sherlock." He moaned against his neck, grazing the skin with his teeth.   
  
Sherlock arched up, gasping more in pleasure than in pain as John lightly pinched the skin on his neck between his teeth.   
  
John smirked against the skin, tugging Sherlock’s lips back to his own and kissing him almost fiercely.   
  
A muffled squeak escaped Sherlock's throat as John's lips crashed back down on his. John was being dominant, but Sherlock could still sense the loving passion behind it. He pressed back and rounded his fingers so that the nails scratched red lines across John's back.   
  
John arched into the touch, an aroused whine escaping his lips as his massaged Sherlock’s tongue with his own.   
  
Sherlock couldn't help but smirk a little at the sounds that were coming out of John. His moans and whines seemed to reach deep into Sherlock and cause another part of him to stir. He let one hand trail to the small of John's back and danced along the edge of John's trousers with his fingers.   
  
“I thought you wanted to wait.” John mumbled, kissing Sherlock’s jaw line. “We’ll be too tired for dinner if we do anything too exciting now.”   
  
Sherlock pouted a bit, not really wanting to stop. He had been enjoying himself.   
  
"You're the one who suggested we go 'horizontal'," he teased, sticking his tongue out a bit. _It's not like I actually need dinner anyway_...   
  
John leaned up and began sucking on Sherlock's outstretched tongue, deciding the detective's comment wasn't worthy of an answer.   
  
Sherlock moaned softly and teased John's tongue with his own. He was pleased that this was so enjoyable so far. Perhaps tonight wouldn't be bad after all. 


	53. "Maybe experimenting should be left until after dinner tonight."

John pulled away from the kiss to look at Sherlock with a thoughtful smile. "You will eat tonight, won't you?"   
  
Sherlock blinked up at him and then averted his eyes. "I, um, I suppose I will if we actually make our reservation."   
  
John rolled his eyes. "Please. Sex on an empty stomach is near impossible, anyway. A guy I knew was with a girl who went into a coma. And she ate about as little as you." He sighed. "I won't do this if you don't have a full meal. And keep it down." He added.   
  
Sherlock rolled his eyes. He was sure he had a more efficient system than the girl, as he was purely capable of going for days on end without eating and was perfectly fine given his line of work. He almost wanted to say so, but John was giving him a look that made him rethink it. Instead, he found himself slowly nodding and pondering what would meet John's definition of a 'full meal'.   
  
"A main course." John insisted, seeing his husband’s 'loophole' face. "You can have a starter too if you want but you have to eat an entire main course." He let one hand gently trail up and down Sherlock's torso as he watched his husband's face.   
  
_That's enough food to last me a week_ , Sherlock thought, relaxing under Johns attention. _But John won't let tonight happen if I don't eat_.   
  
"It's a deal," he said, though it almost came out like a purr due to the way John was petting him.   
  
John smiled. "Thank you, love." He leaned in to capture Sherlock's lips with his own.   
  
“So where are you taking me tonight?" Sherlock asked, hands tracing over John's shoulder.   
  
"I was going to go for Angelo's. But now that I think about it, I kind of want Indian. How does that sound to you?" John mumbled, suddenly exhausted.   
  
"I'm surprised you want that given what happened to your stomach the last time," Sherlock teased. "Angelo's works fine if you still want to go."   
  
"I definitely wasn't suggesting that awful place again. Maybe experimenting should be left until _after_ dinner tonight. Angelo's it is." John beamed.   
  
Sherlock grinned back up at him. "Should we get ready soon?"   
  
John glanced at the clock on Sherlock's bedside table. "It's quarter past six... I think that would be a good idea. I'll book our table for seven." He moved to get up, before relaxing again with a groan. "Later." He mumbled, nuzzling into Sherlock's chest.   
  
Sherlock chuckled and ran a hand through John's hair. "Don't tell me I've worn you out already?"   
  
John laughed. "Believe me, I have better stamina usually. I don't know why I'm so tired." He smiled. "I'll be more awake tonight." He promised.   
  
"I hope so," he teased, throwing one arm around John's shoulder.   
  
John rolled his eyes and yawned. "Can I sleep?" He murmured, eyes already closing.   
  
"I'll wake you in half an hour. Angelo won't mind if we're a little late," Sherlock murmured, rubbing circles in John's back.   
  
John smiled. "What will you do?" He asked, hoping Sherlock would stay with him; he was warm.   
  
"It seems that I've become your pillow, so i suppose I'm not going anywhere," he hummed, resting his head back on the pillow.   
  
John giggled sleepily. "I'll reluctantly let you go if you have somewhere important to be."   
  
"Well, I did have this date at seven. An ex-soldier. A doctor too, in fact," he answered casually apart from the wide smile on his face.   
  
"Fuck him." John mumbled, smiling foolishly. "He can wait. If he's got any sense he'll know you're worth waiting for."   
  
Sherlock laughed and planted a kiss on John's head. "Go to sleep. I'll be here when you wake, captain."   
  
"T'sexy when you call me that." John murmured, almost inaudibly, as he slipped into slumber.   
  
"I'll keep that in mind," Sherlock murmured, but John was already asleep. He smiled and rubbed John's back, wondering how on earth he could possibly be any happier than he was right now.   
  
John began smiling in his sleep; a good dream about sprinting through London, forgotten canes, and cab-driving murderers. 


	54. "I married a mean man."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry guys! I made this a draft last night, I must have forgotten to click post. I'll be updating again tonight as planned.

It was a quarter to seven when Sherlock began to gently nudge the good doctor's shoulders. "John... John it's time to wake up," he called softly, feeling almost guilty for waking his peaceful looking husband.  
  
John mumbled something and blinked, wincing against the light. "Eurgh." He groaned. "Your face. It's so wondrous. I can't see." John giggled, nuzzling into Sherlock. "Is it time for food stuff? I'm starving."  
  
Sherlock couldn't help but chuckle at John's silly behaviour. "Yes. It is time for us to go eat. Unless of course, my beauty has left you too blinded to find your way out the door," he teased.  
  
John squinted around the room. "No..." He said, jokingly cautious. "I might be able to make it."  
  
"Excellent. It'd be a shame to have to cancel. No doubt Angelo was looking forward to seeing us tonight," Sherlock replied, moving to sit up and causing John to slide off of him. He stared down at the fallen soldier with a sly grin.  
  
John threw his head back in mock despair. "I married a mean man." He wailed, but the melancholy in his tone was discredited by the grin spread across his face.  
  
Sherlock stuck his tongue out before bending over and kissing John on the forehead. "We should get up or we'll be late. You want me to eat, remember?"  
  
John bounded out of bed. "Yes sir." He teased. "Come on then, Holmes." He turned to his husband with a grin. "Allons-y."  
  
"Your french is atrocious," Sherlock mocked with a grin, not getting the reference. He stood up and walked over to the door to slide on his shoes.  
  
John heaved a sigh and followed Sherlock out, slipping into his own shoes and coat and holding out the Belstaff and scarf to his detective.  
  
Sherlock took the coat and swung it around to fit his arms through the sleeve. He did a few buttons before reaching over to take his scarf, tying it neatly about his neck and smiling. Once they stepped outside they would have to act like normal blokes, but inside, so long as the curtains were closed, they could act however they pleased.  
  
John smiled at Sherlock before fetching the cane and handing it to him. "Here." He sighed. "How are we going to be able to do this? We could pretend that we were in love because... well, we were. But this?" He wrapped his arms around Sherlock's neck, standing on his toes.  
  
Sherlock placed his hands on John's waist to steady his balance. "I don't understand. How are we going to do what?" he asked, tilting his head slightly to the side.  
  
"This. Pretending not to be... this. I can't imagine being just friends with you anymore. How can we convince the public that we are?"  
  
Sherlock sighed and rubbed his thumbs soothingly over John's hips. "We'll have to act like we did before. Though even I'm having difficulties figuring out what that means exactly. You'll go back to denying your sexuality. I'll go back to pretending not to notice. Physical contact will be kept to a minimum. We'll need to be careful what we say." _This is going to be more difficult than I thought. Though it might be harder for John. His acting skills leave something to be desired_.  
  
John slapped his cheek playfully. "Don't mock my acting skills. Even in your head." He chided. "If you think you can manage this, so can I." He held his head up proudly before faltering. "You do think you can manage this, don't you?"  
  
"We'll have to," he answered quietly, letting his hands fall away. For both our sakes.  
  
John nodded. "I know." He kissed Sherlock slowly, committing every second to memory as if this would be their last.  
  
Sherlock closed his eyes and kissed him back. He pulled away a minute later with a sigh. "We should get going," he murmured, taking a step back. He felt as if he were stretching a spring tied between their hearts, each step away more difficult than the last.  
  
John smiled, holding out his hand before pulling back, remembering. "Of course." He said, smile falling as he longingly watched Sherlock leaving the flat. 


	55. "Hell hath no fury like a woman's scorn."

Getting a cab was quick work for Sherlock's long arms. He climbed in and sat in awkward silence as John sat next to him. They hadn't normally talked beforehand in cab rides, but back then at least the silence was a welcomed companion. Now, combined with the space in between, it felt tense and unnatural. _We should be holding hands or something- No. We're flatmates. Being anything else could get John killed._   
  
John avidly watched the window, not seeing anything, but needing something to drag his gaze from Sherlock. At long last, they arrived at Angelo's and John paid the cab driver.   
  
Sherlock followed John out of the cab and held the door open as they entered the restaurant. Angelo greeted them, jolly as usual, but Sherlock could tell he was a little disappointed that their marriage had turned out to be a 'fake'. He sat them at their usual table and let them peruse over the menu, even though he already had their usual orders started in the back.   
  
John read the menu slowly, trying to remember what they talked about pre-marriage. Cases... Sherlock was crippled. There hadn't been any. Except: "How did you solve that double murder this morning?" He asked, curious.   
  
Sherlock was relieved that John managed to start up a non-flirtatious topic. "Simple. The evidence was in the secretary's testimony. According to the file the two victims were friendly with each other, but supposedly no more than acquaintances. The secretary served as a character witness, but she obviously fancied one of the two as she had more to say about the man of her dreams. She must have been heartbroken when she discovered the two were actually together romantically. Love is quite the motivator," Sherlock explained, his voice cool and collected, but inside his mind he was thinking back to the little twinges of pain he felt whenever John went on a date.   
  
John nodded. "Why would she kill them both?" John thought back to The Woman. There were times he wanted to kill her (but he never would have gone through with it), but he'd never kill Sherlock. Not for liking Irene, not for the thing on the Roof, not for anything.   
  
"Hell hath no fury like a woman's scorn," Sherlock recited, taking a sip of his water. "She must have felt betrayed. File said she was an only child. They tend to be quite possessive. I'm guessing she wasn't the most mentally stable and figured if she couldn't have him, no one could. Simple as that."   
  
John nodded. That made sense in a twisted sort of way. "Well it was brilliant that you managed to solve it." John grinned. "Doesn't surprise me." It was slightly flirtatious. But then they always had been; if they suddenly went too platonic, people might talk.   
  
"Do you realize you still do that out loud?" Sherlock teased. The waiter arrived with their food and Angelo placed a candle down on the table. Sherlock rolled his eyes and moved it out of the center.   
  
_He's just acting_ , John convinced himself, but Sherlock's attitude to the candle still felt like a stab in the gut. "I'm sorry. I'll... stop." He grinned at Sherlock.   
  
"That won't be necessary," Sherlock replied with his typical wink. He looked down at the plate in front of him and sighed internally. It looked like a lot of food. Nevertheless, he picked up his fork and began to eat.   
  
John watched Sherlock eat for a minute then began to shovel his own food into his mouth. He was starving. "Sherlock." He said, after he swallowed. "I..." He looked down at the table. "Please don't hate me."   
  
Sherlock looked up with a puzzled expression. "Hate you? Why on earth would I do that?" Worry quivered in Sherlock's gut. _Why would John think I hated him?_   
  
"Sherlock..." John swallowed as nervously as he could. "The tiredness earlier, the increased appetite..." He paused, trying not to grin. "I think I'm pregnant."   
  
Sherlock raised an eyebrow and looked around to try and figure out what the hell John was on about. "John. You're a male. You can't get pregnant," he replied blankly, the humor flying over his head.   
  
John burst out laughing. He laughed until he was fighting for air and tears were streaming down his cheeks. "Oh Sherlock." He gasped. "You just don't get people at all, do you?"   
  
"I, um, suppose I don't.." Sherlock smiled awkwardly, but overall was still confused. John's laughter was attracting the attention of some of the other patrons. "John. You should stop before you forget how to breathe," he whispered to the man across from him.   
  
"Too late." John gasped, trying to stop himself. He took a deep breath and a gulp of sparkling water. Then he made the mistake of glancing up at his husband. He snorted and water came spurting out his nose. He grabbed his napkin and tried to hide his peals of laughter behind it.   
  
Sherlock glanced around awkwardly. He didn't know what to do to have John calm down. He pushed around at the food on his plate as he tried to think of a solution.   
  
A few minutes later, John was taking shaky, but laughterless, breaths. "I'm sorry. Laughing is medicinal. People need to have a good laugh now and then."   
  
"Is blowing water out your nose part of the clensing process then?" Sherlock asked, looking up briefly from his meal.   
  
John glared at Sherlock. "Do you want me to start laughing again?" He threatened jokingly. "Don't be amusing."   
  
Sherlock just smirked and tucked back into his meal. He was only just halfway finished, but he was already full. _Did John really expect me to eat the whole thing?_   
  
John turned to his own meal before glancing at Sherlock. "Please eat all of it. You'll heal faster with proper nutrition." He reminded him. "We'll be back on the streets chasing criminals sooner."   
  
Sherlock frowned back down at his plate. "I honestly don't think I can eat any more, John. I'm not use to having such large portions."   
  
John nodded. "Alright. We'll work on that over the next few days. I'm proud of you." He looked down at his own empty plate. "Are you ready to leave?"   
  
Sherlock took one last sip of his drink and nodded. "Whenever you are," he answered.   
  
"We should pay." John said with a frown, signalling one waiter for the cheque.   
  
Sherlock sat back in his seat as he waited for John to finish paying. Once the waiter had returned with the receipt he gradually stood up and began putting back on his coat and scarf. The last thing he did was reach for the cane. He only had it for a day and he already hated it. He looked over to John who was laying down a tip and remembered what was suppose to happen when they got home. _Keep your composure; we're just flatmates right now_ , he thought, turning his head down to hide any signs of a blush or anticipation.   
  
John glanced at Sherlock. "Do you want to head out a hail us a cab, I'll be a second with my coat, the zip keeps getting stuck." He grinned, hoping Sherlock wouldn't see how nervous he was.   
  
Sherlock quirked an eyebrow but shrugged. "Don't take too long, John," he called out behind him as he limped outside. Hailing a cab only took a minute and he had to inform the driver to wait. He could feel butterflies stirring in his stomach. _Which is a ridiculous notion. A butterfly wouldn't survive and it's wings would be too damp to fly by the time it reached the stomach anyway_.   
  
John's fingers were shaking and he zipped up his jacket. _Breathe, John. It's not like you haven't had sex before_. Granted, none of his other partners had been Sherlock Holmes. He had nothing to worry about. Sherlock wanted this. John sure as hell wanted this. And no one in the media would be any the wiser. He braced himself and stepped out of the restaurant, hurrying to the cab. 


	56. "This time we go further and finish sweatier."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for not posting yesterday. Things were busy and I completely forgot. Oops. Well, it's here now.

The cab ride back could not have been any longer if they’d taken a detour around the sun. Sherlock’s nerves almost had him squirming in the seat. As soon as the cab pulled up outside of the flat he flew out of the car and into their home, leaving John to take care of paying the driver.   
  
John thanked the cabby and hurried up to the flat, almost forgetting to close the front door in his haste. He reached the sitting room and looked around. "Sherlock?"   
  
"Here, John!" Sherlock called from down the hallway. He had discarded his coat and scarf as soon as he entered and had just finished kicking off his shoes. He stood in the doorway to his bedroom, his hands clasped together nervously as he waited for John to come and join him.   
  
John went into the kitchen, tossing his own coat over the back of one chair. "Now?" He asked, slowly. "Are you sure?"   
  
"Please, John. Don't make me have to deal with second thoughts. I want this. I want you." Sherlock pleaded. I'm ready. This is right.   
  
John nodded, stepping forwards. "I love you." He said, reaching Sherlock and wrapping his arms around his neck.   
  
"I love you too." Sherlock whispered, placing his arms around John's waist and hugging him tightly. "I'm ready for this," he murmured in John's ear.   
  
John nodded. "I know. Shall we?" He stepped past Sherlock into the room and sat on the bed.   
  
Sherlock bit his lip and sat down next to him. He felt awkward as he wasn't sure how best to proceed. In the past they'd just have him drop his pants and be done with it, but that wasn't John's way. John would be gentle, slow. He would be patient.   
  
John placed a gentle hand on Sherlock's knee and leaned in to press a kiss to his lips.   
  
Sherlock raised one hand to cup John's face and angled his head to deepen the kiss, though it was still soft and gentle.   
  
John smiled and pushed Sherlock back into the pillows, straddling him and gripping Sherlock's jacket with both hands, holding him tightly as if expecting him to flee.   
  
"Are we picking up where we left off, doctor?" he teased, reaching up to pull John down to him for another kiss.   
  
"Of course." He grinned. "But this time we go further and finish sweatier." He let his tongue trace the elegant contour of Sherlock's lips.   
  
Sherlock chuckled softly and parted his lips to allow John's tongue to slip inside, humming as he placed a hand behind John's head to keep him in place.   
  
John unbuttoned Sherlock's suit jacket and tugged it off his shoulders, not breaking their kiss.   
  
Sherlock removed his hands from John just long enough to get his arms out of the sleeves, leaving the jacket trapped underneath him. He dropped his arms low on John's back and slipped them back under John's jumper, once again pulling it up as he traced over John's skin. "Off." He murmured. He began trailing his kisses around John's mouth and down underneath his chin.   
  
"If you want it off, you need to let me go for a moment." John teased, pulling away and tugging his jumper off, tossing it across the room. As soon as he was free, he leant back down to recapture Sherlock's lips.   
  
Sherlock ran his hands over John's exposed skin, mapping every bump and contour and committing it to memory. A map of John.   
  
He trailed his fingers lightly over John's sides, doing his best not to tickle the man, but taking the time to appreciate the feel of every rib and the outline of John's pecs. _My soldier_ , he thought with a grin.   
  
John watched Sherlock study him, holding his breath for when he came to the scar on his shoulder. The bullet had exited at the front, leaving a blossom of torn and crumpled skin. He knew Sherlock would be fascinated by the mark. Absently, he began unbuttoning Sherlock's shirt.   
  
The detective was ignoring John removing his shirt as he finally let his fingers wander up to the doctor's shoulder. Delicately, he traced over the angry scar, analyzing every bump and dip. The bullet that had ripped through John Watson had not shown any mercy and for that Sherlock felt a stab of anger at whoever had pulled the trigger, but at the same time. _This is what sent him home and brought him to me. Should I feel guilty for thinking that?_ He swallowed and gingerly lifted his head until he was able to place a tender kiss over the mottled flesh. A thank you and an apology all in one.   
  
John smiled down at Sherlock. “They were a terrible shot but they had great timing.” He chuckled softly, pulling Sherlock’s chin upwards gently to meet his lips.   
  
"This may sound 'not good' but I, umm, I'm glad they sent you home. I mean, I'm glad the sent you to me. Well, they didn't really send you to me but the circums- No, this isn't sounding right at all," Sherlock babbled, feeling awkward and red with embarrassment. He'd normally just leave the room in a situation like this (as rarely as one occurs) but he was currently trapped under his loving husband.   
  
John giggled. “I love it when I can make you stumble.” He murmured, pulling Sherlock’s shirt from his shoulders. “And I’m very glad I was sent home when I was as well.” He leant down to kiss Sherlock.   
  
Sherlock's breath hitched in surprise as he suddenly found himself divested of his shirt. When had that happened? He didn't have long to ponder as he was soon melting under the combination of John's tongue in his mouth and John's hands running over his bare skin.   
  
John's hands travelled lower and lower before they stopped at Sherlock's fly. He pulled away from their kiss for a moment. "Are you sure?" He asked again.   
  
Sherlock gazed up at John for a moment, catching his breath and processing the question. After a moment he gave a silent nod and leaned up for a chaste kiss. "I'm yours, John."   
  
John smiled. "My genius detective." He said proudly. "But please, Sherlock. Say the word and I'll stop." He opened the button and zipped down the fly of Sherlock's trousers. "Help me get these off you."   
  
Sherlock let out a shaky breath as he lifted his hips and began pushing his trousers off of his hips. He was still nervous, but it wasn't in the bad way. Part of him was a little bit excited. He looked up at John and watched his face as the other man began to take over, pulling the fabric down past his thighs and off of his feet.   
  
Once Sherlock's trousers were on the floor, John crawled back up to the detective and began kissing him slowly, eyes fluttering closed as he lay beside his husband.   
  
Now that he was left in only his pants, Sherlock realized he didn't feel nearly as exposed and vulnerable as he thought he would be. He moved his lips against John's and pressed himself closer, cherishing the warmth and security he felt with John's presence. A quiet moan escaped his lips as his groin brushed against John's hips.   
  
John smiled into their kiss. He slowly reached down to remove his jeans. After tugging them off, he hesitated. "Socks or no socks?" He murmured.   
  
Sherlock quirked an eyebrow and mulled over the question, wondering if it was some kind of trick. "I... I don't see the benefit of wearing socks," he answered, looking down at his own still-covered feet.   
  
John chuckled. "I only ask because a lot of people have a thing about feet. I prefer not wearing socks but I would if that's what you'd wanted." He reached down and pulled off all four socks, dropping them on the floor. "Much better." He murmured, sliding his bare feet against Sherlock's inadvertantly as he leaned closer to the detective.   
  
Sherlock hummed in agreement and risked a glance down John's body. He still had most of his physique from his days as a soldier, though Sherlock chuckled when he remembered making the comment about John's 'chubbiness'. His gaze wandered down further and he flushed as he noticed the bulge in John's pants.   
  
John noticed Sherlock's flush and looked down. "Is that... not ok?" He murmured, confused. Maybe Sherlock was having doubts. Which was fine but he had seemed so keen.   
  
"Uh, no. It was expected, I just-" Sherlock was having trouble thinking of words. He slowly turned his gaze back to John's face and tried for a reassuring smile. "It's fine," he murmured. To prove it he inched closer so that their bodies were flush.   
  
John noticed that Sherlock was hard as well with a satisfied smile. "I love you." He murmured, fingers teasing the elastic of Sherlock's briefs.   
  
A loving smile graced Sherlock's face as he stared into John's eyes. "I love you too," he breathed. He rolled his hips up, causing John's fingers to catch and pull down his pants just a tiny bit. The anticipation was starting to get to him as he was ready for John to see all of him. To spread himself out and let John see every inch of flesh, every scar, every blemish. He wanted John to know him inside and out, and vice versa. He kissed along John's cheek back towards his ear where he gently tugged at John's earlobe with his teeth. "My John."   
  
John moaned as Sherlock bit at his ear. He grinned down at Sherlock and began kissing a trail along his chest, ending at the hem of his briefs. He took the fabric in his teeth and, with a cheeky glance at Sherlock, tugged his underpants down his leg. 


	57. "Are you ready, my love?"

Despite how mentally prepared Sherlock thought he was, his first instinct when his pants were removed was to curl up on himself. He started bringing up his knees, just barely catching himself as they brushed against John. He winced and took a deep breath to force himself to relax. _I'm safe. John has me. I'm safe_.   
  
John pulled away slightly from Sherlock. "It's fine, love." He murmured. "Take all the time you need."   
  
Sherlock breathed out and looked down. John hovered at a comfortable distance over his exposed form. One look in John's eyes dissipated most of the tension. He gingerly reached a hand down and pulled John up, relaxing completely when their lips met again in a gentle kiss.   
  
John smiled against Sherlock's lips. "You are so beautiful." He mumbled into the kiss, hands dancing across his husband's torso.   
  
Sherlock had an urge to argue that he was male. He didn't need to be told he was beautiful, or sexy, but saying that wouldn't have speed his heart from swelling at the compliment. _I'm becoming a teenage girl _, Sherlock thought with an amused grin. "I love you," he whispered, nuzzling his head against John's.__   
  
"I love you too." John mumbled. His hands slipped lower and he hesitantly brushed a few fingers against Sherlock's cock, studying the taller man's face for a reaction.   
  
Sherlock let out a breathy moan as an electric pulse stemmed from his groin. He arched his hips up, seeking more contact. _That felt good_ , he thought, leaning in to kiss John again.   
  
John grinned and reached over to the nightstand for the bottle of lube. He squirted some onto his hand and ghosted his hand over Sherlock again, keeping his touch light and teasing.   
  
John's fingers left fiery trails on Sherlock's skin. He had never had anyone pay this much attention to him. "John..." He moaned. "Feels good."   
  
John's grip on the man tightened slightly. He started with long gentle strokes, kissing Sherlock's jawline at the end of each one.   
  
Sherlock arched his back slightly as he languidly thrusted into John's hand. He wasn't sure what to do with his hands, so he twisted them into the sheets, his knuckles white as he tried to keep his composure which was falling apart under John's skilled hands.   
  
Suddenly, John removed his hand, his slicked fingers sliding back and circling the skin around Sherlock's hole. John kissed up to his ear and murmured into it. "Are you ready, my love?"   
  
Sherlock released a breath and spread his legs a little wider. He turned his head and cupped John's cheek as he took another kiss. "I-I'm ready."   
  
John nodded and slipped one finger, only up to the first knuckle, inside. He paused, waiting for Sherlock's say-so for him to continue.   
  
Sherlock hissed quietly at the intrusion, but the discomfort soon faded and he gave John a small nod saying he could keep going.   
  
John slowly pushed the finger in, watching Sherlock, ready to pull out at a single word. "Relax, love." He murmured. "Believe me, it'll hurt less if you relax."   
  
Sherlock took a deep breath and let his head roll back, narrowing his attention to just the feeling of John's finger inside him. He clenched his fists rhythmically to help distract him from any further discomfort. The digit slowly began moving in and out, curling slightly as John tried to stretch him out. After a minute it was starting to feel almost pleasurable.   
  
John watched Sherlock closely, his free hand stroking through the taller man's hair. He murmured sweet nothings into his ear as he slowly moved his finger inside the other man. "Are you ready for another?" He whispered.   
  
"Yes, John," Sherlock said with a tentative nod. He spread his legs just a little wider, trying to remember to keep himself relaxed.   
  
John smiled softly. "You're doing great, gorgeous." He murmured, pulling out one finger to slide it back in with another, ever so slowly. "How is that?"   
  
"Mmmm… Bigger," Sherlock groaned, arching his back a little as he adjusted. He could feel the muscles loosening and soon he was starting to enjoy the feeling. His own cock was completely hard, for the first time actually aroused by the feeling of something inside him. It wasn't long before a small part of him was begging for more.   
  
John watched the discomfort on Sherlock's face turn to pleasure with satisfaction. "Another?" He murmured. At Sherlock's nod, he slid three fingers into him, kissing his face softly as the taller man adjusted.   
  
Sherlock turned his head so that John's lips landed on his. He moaned into the kiss, conveying his pleasure and satisfaction, but he gave a surprised gasp as one of John's fingers curled and brushed over a particularly sensitive bundle of nerves.   
  
John chuckled. "There it is." He whispered with a cheeky grin. He re-angled his fingers slightly so that their thrusts brushed the spot each time. After a minute, he kissed Sherlock softly. "Do you think you're ready to take me?"   
  
Sherlock had almost completely fallen apart by the time John pulled his fingers out. He just barely stopped himself from whining at the loss. His member was throbbing against his stomach and practically begging to be touched. Any doubt that he had had in his mind at the beginning had been forced into a small corner of his mind. He knew that the next thing to enter him would be thicker than fingers but he was doing well so far. _I can do this - we can do this - I need this_.   
  
He looked up into John's eyes and moved up to initialize a slow, needy kiss. "Please, John...I'm ready.."   
  
John nodded, looking into Sherlock's eyes. "I love you." He murmured, stripping off his own boxers to reveal his own achingly hard cock. He slipped a condom onto himself and covered the latex in lube. He positioned himself in front of Sherlock and slowly, ever so slowly, pushed into him. He studied him closely, watching for a reaction. 


	58. "But I wanted to."

_Definitely bigger than the fingers_ , Sherlock thought, his knuckles white as he clenched the sheets. The pain and discomfort was trying to trigger flashbacks, but Sherlock refused to let himself succumb. _I want this. I won't let the past ruin what I have now _.__   
  
He tried his best to keep his face calm and encouraging, but he could already feel small tears in the corners of his eyes and he cursed when one began to trail down his face.   
  
John pulled out of his lover in an instant, leaning down to kiss away the tear. "It's alright, Sherlock." John mumbled. "We can wait. You did so well tonight, I'm so proud of you." He kissed his husband's lips, trying to portray his love through the simple action.   
  
"But I - I wanted to. I did." Sherlock stammered. The look in his eyes was a mixture of sad, apologetic, and mild desperation. Another tear escaped his eyes and he wiped it away with a frustrated scowl. I was ready.   
  
"I know, darling, I know." John climbed off him and lay beside him, placing his head on Sherlock's shoulder. "We'll work on it, ok? At least we know how far you can go now and we can stay within the boundaries." He kissed the skin above Sherlock's nipple. "I am so sorry this happened to you. You didn't deserve what they did."   
  
Sherlock gave a pathetic nod and tried to roll towards John, but was stopped when he realized he was rolling onto his bad leg. He returned to his laying on his back with an annoyed huff. He glanced down and noticed that he and John were both still hard. And John looked painfully so.   
  
"What do you want to do about.." he cut off his words and just gestured south, figuring that would be enough for John to go on.   
  
John shook his head. "I'll deal with yours if you want but I'm really just in the mood for a cold shower myself." He said softly, hoping Sherlock wouldn't take it personally. "Thank you for eating with me today."   
  
Sherlock felt a little guilty, and he figured that guilt would only grow if he was pleasured and John wasn't. "I can will it away while you're in the shower," he whispered. "Thank you for letting me try."   
  
John smiled at him. "Of course." He kissed Sherlock's cheek. "Love, I know with the... them it must have been all about the final jolt of ecstasy at climax, but for me, every second that I am close to you is worth ten orgasms. Please don't feel bad."   
  
_I'll try_ , Sherlock thought, turning and locking his gaze with John's blue eyes. He saw warmth, honesty, and security in those ocean pools and lifted one hand to trace the crow's feet on John's face. "I love you," he murmured, not really paying attention as to whether he was saying it out loud. He must have, though, because the next thing he knew John was sweetly pressing their lips together.   
  
John pulled away from their kiss with a small smile. “I love you too. I’ll be back in just a moment.” He murmured, reluctantly getting up. He pulled on Sherlock’s second best dressing gown, grinned at his detective and twirled around for him (what was the fun in trying on a spouse’s clothes if one didn’t get to act like an idiot?). He left the bedroom, still grinning as he turned the water on.   
  
Sherlock couldn't help but smile. John's happiness was contagious. He flopped his head back onto the pillow with a sigh and began focusing on his problem down below. A few annoying thoughts later had him once again soft, but also back into his depressed mood. _Next time. There has to be a next time_.   
  
John reappeared, wet but smiling, and lay down beside Sherlock. “I love you too.” He murmured. “And sorry about your extra fridge.” He tugged the dressing gown off and laid it over both of them, curling up next to his detective.   
  
Sherlock had completely forgotten about the fridge. His face fell into a childish pout and he rolled over (onto his good leg) with a sad huff.   
  
"I know, love." John murmured. "But we can't refurbish my room if we're pretending to be sleeping separately.   
  
Sherlock sighed, knowing John was right, but still sadden by the loss of his non existent lab. "The things I give up for you." He said, his voice light and teasing.   
  
John chuckled. “I think I’m owed it after how many organs have been in my fridge over the years.” He teased back, curling around Sherlock and kissing his shoulder softly. “Some day.” He promised.   
  
_Some day_ , Sherlock repeated in his mind, smiling softly at the thought. He closed his eyes and allowed himself to fall asleep, safe and warm in John's arms.   
  
John smiled as he watched Sherlock drift off. He carefully pulled the duvet over him and went to make himself a cup of tea.   
  
A few minutes later, he clambered into bed with his book and steaming mug and began reading, glancing every so often at his beautiful husband.   
  
Sherlock slept peacefully, dreaming of days when he and John would solve cases, catch criminals, and were allowed to be together without fear of consequence. At one point he and John were standing on a rooftop that let them look over all of London, but they were too distracted with each other. A shadow skirted around the edges, barely catching Sherlock's eye. It darted past him and he turned to look. When he looked back, John had vanished. Where he stood was nothing but a dark, humanoid figure, towering over Sherlock who had suddenly become so small.   
  
In the real world, Sherlock's face was scrunched in distress and he started squirming a little. John looked up from his book and ran his fingers through Sherlock’s hair. “I’m here, love. I’m right beside you.” He murmured. “I’ve got you, don’t worry.” He didn’t want to wake Sherlock unless it turned into a real nightmare.   
  
John's voice was heard in the gentle breeze that kissed his face. He closed his eyes for a moment to bask in the sensation and when he opened them again the shadow had fled. He blinked and looked around, trying to see where it had gone and hoping to find John back by his side. He felt a caring warmth envelope his frame and suddenly he was lying in a field. Dream-John was right next to him, smiling down at him and petting his hair.   
  
In the dream and the real world, he moved closer to his husband, nuzzling his head gently into his side.   
  
John smiled down at Sherlock, glad that had worked. He wrapped his arm around the detective and, with a kiss to his forehead, went back to reading his book, absentmindedly, stroking Sherlock’s hair. 


	59. "I’m plain old John Watson now.”

Three weeks later, Sherlock and John Watson-Holmes found themselves sitting in the office of Attorney at Law Robert Potts. In front of them lay a divorce contract and a pen. Mycroft stood in the corner to serve as a witness, watching on with a bored expression.   
  
"Luckily your divorce is so civil," the lawyer chimed. "No need for a court case. You two just need to initial and sign here," he pointed at a line of the contract. "Here and here."   
  
John glanced at Sherlock. _I love you_. He couldn’t project the thought to Sherlock but hoped to hell that Sherlock knew what he was thinking anyway. He picked up the pen. “I suppose that means I’m plain old John Watson now.” He murmured to Sherlock, trying to joke his way through this. He scrawled his name on the document and handed the pen to his… ex-husband.   
  
"Much less of a mouthful, wouldn't you say," Sherlock replied, quickly adding his own signature. This whole ordeal was driving him mad. Seeing their signatures side by side on the paper that would declare them officially independent made it feel like there was a hand squeezing his heart. It hurt but he couldn't let it show. He couldn't let it look like he regretted every moment of this. He turned to John and gave him a fake smile, an action that only two out of the three other people in this room could see past and uncover the pain he was hiding.   
  
John resisted the urge to reach forwards and take Sherlock’s hand in his own. _Later_ , he promised himself.   
  
“And the witness? Sign here.” Mycroft took the pen from his brother and scribbled his own name down.   
  
_That’s it_ , John thought ruefully, _the greatest man alive and I’m not married to him anymore_.   
  
"Well, that takes care of that. Thank you all for coming down. I do wish you luck with your new independence." The lawyer stood and shook hands with all three gentlemen before politely dismissing them from the room. Sherlock left swiftly, staying only a few paces ahead of John as Mycroft led them out of the building and to an awaiting car.   
  
"I believe John and I can take a cab," Sherlock said, gazing upon the black car with disdain.   
  
"Yes, we can. Thank you for... that." He jerked his head towards the building they'd just left, adding under his breath, "Sort of." John walked away hastily, dragging Sherlock with him before a cat-fight could start.   
  
He bundled his flatmate into a cab and told the driver their address. "I liked the mouthful." He murmured into Sherlock's ear. He frowned. "I meant our names. That was not supposed to be an innuendo."   
  
Sherlock chuckled softly and turned to reply. "Are you entirely sure about that?" He asked with a smirk. They may not have gotten around to actually 'doing it', but over the past few weeks Sherlock had become quite skilled at flirting with John.   
  
John cocked his head to one side, grinning. “Not entirely, no. Sherlock Holmes, you know me far too well.” He teased.   
  
"Well. We were married for almost two months. I would hope I would know you a little better than most," he said with a wink, keeping his voice low so that the cab driver couldn't overhear too much.   
  
John grinned. “You know everyone better than most, Holmes.” He murmured. “It’s in your nature.”   
  
"Hmmm. So it is." He wanted to reach over and take John's hand, or even kiss the man, but he knew that would be taking it too far to be played off as friendly teasing. Instead he turned his head and gazed out the window for the remainder of the ride.   
  
Once they reached home, John, as usual, paid the driver and Sherlock, limp all but non existent, walked to the front door of 221B. John joined him as the cab driver drove off. “Forget your keys, love?” He teased gently.   
  
"I never 'forget'. I simply chose to leave them behind today," Sherlock shot back, raising his chin to show his superiority.   
  
John chuckled. “Of course. And what’s the great Holmes’ reasoning behind ‘leaving his keys at home’?” He said, putting his own key in the door and pushing it open.   
  
"Simple," Sherlock stated, following John inside and closing the door behind him. He turned and stood directly behind John, his head hovering over John's shoulder. "I knew I could count on Captain John Watson to bring his own."   
  
_Watson-Holmes_ , John nearly corrected, before stopping himself. _Not anymore_. “You should stop being so dependent on me, Holmes.” He chided lightly. “Some day, I might not be here.”   
  
Sherlock's grin fell away and he dropped his head so that his forehead pressed down against John's shoulders. "Don't say that," he whispered. He slowly raised his arms and wrapped them around John's waist. "Please, don't ever say that."   
  
John pulled Sherlock in close to him. “Believe me, I will never leave by choice, but Sherlock, neither of us will be around forever.” He pressed his lips to his ex-husband’s forehead. “But I will always love you.”   
  
Sherlock didn't want to think about a world that didn't have John. He held John tightly and buried his face in the crook of John's neck, taking in the comforting scent. The two broke apart when they heard the sound of Mrs. Hudson scuttling around in her kitchen.   
  
John glanced at the door leading into her flat. “We should go upstairs.” He murmured.   
  
Sherlock nodded and turn to lead John up the stairs into their flat. Once he was in the living room he stood awkwardly, waiting for John to close the door.   
  
John did so and then wandered into the kitchen. “Tea?” He offered, already filling up the kettle.   
  
_Forget tea. I want **you**_. Sherlock thought to himself as he followed John into the other room. "Ah, tea. The traditional British pick-me-up." Sherlock drawled, not making much effort to hide his frustration at their current situation.   
  
John rolled his eyes. “It’s traditional because it works.” He flicked the kettle on and reached into the cupboard. “Sherlock.” He growled. “Just because I don’t take sugar in my tea, does not mean you have the right to fill the bowl with… What is this? Blood plasma?”   
  
"Ah, good. It's nice to see all these years after medical school, your ability to label bodily fluids has not deteriorated in the slightest. I do, however, need you to leave it be. I'm observing the effects of prolonged exposure to a room temperature environment. I want to eliminate light as a variable," Sherlock explained, stepping forward to carefully put the bowl back in the cupboard.   
  
John rolled his eyes. “Did you at least remove the sugar before you added the gloop?” He said, exasperated, not expecting Sherlock to have thought of something like that.   
  
"Of course I did," Sherlock scoffed. "I dumped it in the bin."   
  
_Right_. John sighed. “Well you can go to the shops. Or to Mrs Hudson. Or you can have unsweetened tea. Your choice.” He poured the boiled water into the mugs and dunked a tea bag into each.   
  
Sherlock stuck his tongue out at the thought of drinking bitter tea. He didn't really want to go to the shops either so instead he walked to the doorway and shouted down the stairs for Mrs. Hudson.   
  
John laughed at his flatmate. “Go down to her. You can’t expect her to come up the stairs all the time. She’s got a bad hip.” He called out to the ridiculous man.   
  
"Bad hip doesn't mean bad hearing," Sherlock grumbled as he trudged his way downstairs. He gave two quick raps on the door before just waltzing in. "Mrs. Hudson, do you have any sugar?"   
  
Mrs Hudson looked up from her dusting with a sigh. “And what have you done to your own sugar now, dear?” She said, moving to the cupboard to fetch it all the same.   
  
"Threw it out. Needed the bowl for an experiment," Sherlock explained, bouncing on his heels as he waited.   
  
The old woman nodded, not surprised. “Well alright dear. But I want mine back.” She handed him the sugar bowl. “Careful.” She called after him, as he flounced away. ”It was my mother’s china!” 


	60. “Not that I’m complaining.”

Sherlock strode into the kitchen and over to his still steaming mug with a triumphant grin on his face and Mrs. Hudson's sugar bowl cradled in one arm.   
  
John shook his head. “I love you, but you are the most ridiculous man I have ever met.” He chuckled. He spooned the correct amount of sugar into Sherlock’s mug. “Now bring that back down before any harm comes to it.” He said, slapping Sherlock lightly on the arse.   
  
Sherlock shot him a teasing glare, but quickly sprang back down the stairs to return the sugar. He was back in the flat in less than a minute. He walked up right next to John and pecked him on the cheek as he was drinking his tea. Before John could respond, Sherlock took his own mug and hurried into the living room.   
  
John followed Sherlock into the living room, armed with tea, walking over to the detective’s chair and sitting down on his lap. “What was that for?” He murmured with a grin, nuzzling into Sherlock’s neck. “Not that I’m complaining.”   
  
"Felt like it," Sherlock said with a shrug. He casually wrapped one hand around John's back and used the other to take a sip of his tea. _John has made it perfectly, as (almost) always_.   
  
John leaned into Sherlock slightly, sipping his own tea. "I'm sorry, Sherlock." He murmured.   
  
Sherlock, knowing this was about the divorce without even needing to ask, sighed and tilted his head to rest it against John's. "Me too," he whispered.   
  
They stayed like that; silent and unmoving until their tea was cold. Then John huffed a bit and stood up, picking up both mugs. “We never got to consummate our marriage. Tonight, do you want to try consummate our divorce?” He pressed a kiss to Sherlock’s forehead and walked into the kitchen to wash out the mugs.   
  
Sherlock sat for a moment, searching around for a better response other than 'yes'. He stood up and walked over to the kitchen doorway and leaned against the frame. "I want to consummate our true relationship. No matter what we have to tell the world, I _am_ yours and you are mine."   
  
John beamed at him, walking over and wrapping his arms around his neck. ”I love you.” He murmured, kissing Sherlock softly.   
  
Sherlock let his hands rest on John's waist as he pressed back into the kiss. He then pulled John in for a tight hug and buried his face in John's shoulder. "We're still out of sugar," he murmured teasingly.   
  
“I’ll go shopping later.” John said with a sigh. “I’m pretty sure we need milk as well. And whatever you did to the jam… You are very lucky I smell things before I eat them.” He pulled Sherlock tighter to him. “Your stupid father.” John growled, only half joking. “I want your experiments out of my goddamn kitchen.”   
  
"I feel the need to remind you that it was my kitchen first," Sherlock said with a small chuckle. "John." He said after a moment, his tone hesitant. "You're not actually going to start dating again, are you?"   
  
John blanched. He had tried not to think about it. “I don’t know. I don’t want to.” He rested his head against Sherlock’s. “Any chance we could be so busy with cases for the next few years I won’t have time to date?”   
  
"Imagine what Lestrade would do if we both started pestering him for cases. We'd probably run all of London's criminals out of a job." Sherlock smiled at the thought, but his arms squeezed John a little tighter. "I'm not sure if I could handle watching you leave for a date." He confessed quietly.   
  
“I know. I’m not sure I could ever make ‘first date small talk’ again. Not when I know you're at home waiting for me. I never want to sit at a table for two when the other person isn’t you.” John murmured. “I’ll try and find a way not to.”   
  
Sherlock lifted his head to kiss John on the cheek, both out of gratitude and affection. No one else would be allowed to touch John like this. No one would be capable of showing John as much love and attention as he could, and vice-versa.   
  
“I know.” John murmured. “I know.” He tilted his head up to meet Sherlock’s lips with his own.   
  
The kiss was simple. No tongue, no teeth, no desperation or overwhelming passion. It was soft and sweet, two pairs of lips moving slowly against each other. It was a physical representation of a pre-existing bond, a reaffirmation of the promise they had made to love, protect, and cherish. Had there been any outsiders looking on, it would have been crystal clear that both men had finally found what they had been looking for. 


	61. "I’m going to kiss you senseless every day for the rest of your life."

After what felt like many blissful hours in that position (though it was probably only a few minutes), they heard a knock on the door. The pair sprang away from each other as fast as they could, John flicking on the kettle and cleaning out the mugs again. Sherlock sighed and walked over to the door, feeling more than a little annoyed at the interruption.   
  
"Who is it?" he called, not yet bothering to open the door.   
  
“It’s me, dear.” Mrs Hudson cooed. “I’m popping to the shops. Do you boys need anything?”   
  
Sherlock opened the door to let her in, looking to John for the answer to her question. One of the first rules John laid out was that Sherlock was never allowed to be in charge of the shopping. All decisions had to be John approved.   
  
“Milk, raspberry jam and sugar, if you don’t mind, Mrs. Hudson.” John said sweetly, smiling at the woman. She hadn’t taken kindly to the news that her boys had faked their marriage.   
  
"Can we add pig ears to the list? I want to test how quickly they deteriorate in this new acid I developed. Which, for your information, is what I did with the jam. Good thing smelling it was all you did." Sherlock grinned innocently while Mrs. Hudson added the items to the list, pausing just before she wrote pig ears to give John a questioning look.   
  
John sighed. “Just… yeah.” He rubbed his hand across his face. “Fine. I’ll pay you back, Mrs Hudson, thanks a million.”   
  
"Not a problem, John. I'll be back in a jiffy." With that Mrs. Hudson gave them a fond smile before disappearing down the stairs and out the door.   
  
John watched as Sherlock closed the door. He sighed. “We’re never going to have another kiss like that.” He groaned half-heartedly. “Damn that woman.”   
  
Sherlock chuckled, leaning against the wall to look at John. "Never is an awfully long time, John, but I'd be willing to wait."   
  
John looked up at him with a snort, grinning broadly. “There will be no waiting. I’m going to kiss you senseless every day for the rest of your life until I get another kiss like that.”   
  
"I think I could live with that," Sherlock replied smoothly, leaning down to press their lips together once more.   
  
John pulled away, shaking his head. “Not now. I’m making more tea because the rest went cold and…” He shrugged. “I really feel like teasing you.”   
  
Sherlock huffed and stuck his lower lip out in a pout. "That's not very nice, John," he whined, only partly joking.   
  
“Whatever did I do to make you think I was nice?” John smirked at him.   
  
Sherlock narrowed his eyes, trying to think of his next move. "You're a doctor, they train you to be nice."   
  
John chuckled. “Not to mad scientist flatmate cum lovers, they don’t.” He teased.   
  
"Oh? Then how are you supposed to treat your mad scientist of a lover?" Sherlock asked, taking a small step towards John.   
  
“Well… The books say be lenient… But I don’t agree.” He grabbed Sherlock’s shirt and pulled him close. “I believe firmness is the best way to go.”   
  
"Hmm... I'm not so sure. We do have a tendency to rebel against direct authority." Sherlock countered whilst freeing himself from John's grip.   
  
John pouted as Sherlock pulled away. “Where are you going?” He whimpered, trying to suppress a mocking grin.   
  
Sherlock blinked in confusion. "I wasn't going anywhere...I was just--" he was cut off by John grabbing him again, but this time pinning his arms to the wall behind him. "Clever..." Sherlock muttered.   
  
“Clever?” John frowned good-humouredly. “Me? Whatever do you mean?” He teased, standing up on his toes to kiss Sherlock briefly.   
  
Sherlock grinned and returned the kiss in kind. "Still a terrible liar, though," he murmured.   
  
John beamed at him. “Always.” 


	62. "We should move somewhere more... private."

"Well, now that you have your madman trapped," Sherlock drawled, wiggling slightly in a feeble attempt to escape John's hold. "What do you plan to do, Captain?"   
  
John cocked his head to one side, contemplating. “I… didn’t have anything specific in mind. But now that you mention it.” He leant forwards to press his lips to Sherlock’s neck. “I wish I could mark you.” He murmured against the ivory skin.   
  
Sherlock closed his eyes and tilted his head back toward the wall. "You couldn't do it there..people will see.."   
  
"I know." John mumbled. "However..." He undid some of Sherlock's shirt buttons. "How likely are you to be shirtless in public in the next few weeks?" He grinned up at Sherlock evilly and began kissing down his neck to one of his dainty collarbones.   
  
Sherlock's breath hitched as John's lips attached to his newly exposed skin. "I… Not very likely; assuming I don't decide to go for a swim in the Thames."   
  
John hummed into the light kisses before grazing his teeth across the skin he planned to claim and sucking softly.   
  
Sherlock pressed his lips together to stifle a small moan as John bit down softly and began to suck. His hands were still pinned to the wall, but he wanted to wrap them around and clutch the back of John's jumper.   
  
John loosened his grip on Sherlock's arms, deciding a better use for them would be removing Sherlock's shirt from him.   
  
Sherlock's arms fell to his side before quickly placing themselves over John's hips. He looked to the door behind him and then to the window as John's fingers began working open the buttons. "John. We should move somewhere more... private." He didn't want Mrs. Hudson interrupting them and he definitely didn't want to risk anyone spotting them through the window.   
  
John hummed in reluctant agreement, breaking his suction on Sherlock's skin and dragging him to their bedroom, pushing him gently down on the mattress.   
  
Sherlock gave no resistance as John climbed on top of him, eager to resume his work from earlier. Sherlock's shirt hung on his elbows, his chest completely exposed so he could feel the softness of John's jumper as it brushed over his skin.   
  
John glanced at Sherlock before he kissed him. "Do you want to try again now?" He asked softly.   
  
Sherlock gazed up at John and nodded. _This time. I can do it this time_ , he thought, wrapping his arms around John's neck as he reached up to return the kiss.   
  
John smiled against his lover's lips, pulling away for just a moment to pull off his jumper and tshirt underneath.   
  
He kissed Sherlock once more before asking: "Do you want to take me this time?"   
  
Sherlock faltered. "I still don't… I've never done it that way." He wasn't sure if John had ever done it that way either. He didn't want to risk hurting John like he had been in the past.   
  
"Neither have I, but I trust you." John mumbled, gazing into Sherlock's eyes.   
  
Sherlock's stomach clenched nervously. He shook his head and hid his face in John's chest. "No. I don't - I can't risk hurting you like that."   
  
John hushed him. "Ok, alright. Don't worry. We'll try our usual again." He kissed Sherlock's temple. "We won't ever do something you're not comfy with, love."   
  
Sherlock nodded and kissed John's chest lightly. He trailed a few more up to John's shoulder, stopping just next to his scar. John shivered at Sherlock's light touches, reaching down to unzip the fly of his lover's trousers. Sherlock's mouth hung open from arousal and he pressed it against John's shoulder. His hips instinctively rolled to meet John's fingers as they trailed over his groin.   
  
John tugged Sherlock's trousers down, rubbing his crotch through the thin white fabric that remained.   
  
"Mmm... John." Sherlock moaned, almost whimpering as his lover continued to tease him.   
  
"Yes Sherlock?" John replied with feigned innocence.   
  
Sherlock whined and rocked his hips up, seeking more contact. "This could be considered torture, you know, all this t-teasing," he said, his voice breathy.   
  
John chuckled and took his hand away. "Would you rather I stop?" He watched Sherlock closely as he unbuttoned his own jeans.   
  
"N-no.." He stammered, eyes fixed on John's hands as they pushed down on the waistband of his trousers.   
  
“Good.” John grinned cheekily and kicked his trousers over the other side of the room. His hand found Sherlock’s crotch again, though this time braved to slip beneath fabric to the skin below. Sherlock's back arched, pressing his cock hard against John's hand. He was already rock hard and, based on the sizeable bulge in his pants, so was John.   
  
John smiled down at his detective, stroking faster now, as his other hand pulled down Sherlock's briefs. "I love you." He murmured, leaning in to kiss the man beneath him. Sherlock moaned into the kiss and raised one hand to cup the back of John's hand. His other trailed along the waistband of John's pants. He didn't want to come before they tried the next level.   
  
John's hand paused at Sherlock's touch and reached forward to get the bottle of lube. With one hand slicked up, he circled one finger around the entrance to Sherlock's hole, waiting for permission before entering.   
  
Sherlock nodded and John slipped it inside Sherlock up to the first knuckle, where it stopped and waited while John studied his lover's face.   
  
It didn't feel as bad as it did a few weeks ago. The odd sensation gave away to pleasure in a matter of seconds, much to Sherlock's liking. He moaned quietly as he felt the finger sink deeper inside him. John smiled and kissed the man beneath, capturing the moan. He began pumping his finger in and out of Sherlock. "Are you ready for the next one?" He murmured.   
  
Sherlock nodded, stammering out a "please" before he felt a second digit press against his entrance. John slipped the next finger in with the first, slowly, again, to allow Sherlock to adjust. He pressed soft, loving kisses all over the other's face and neck.   
  
Sherlock moaned and spread his legs a little more, hands clutching the sheets and John continued to pleasure him in more ways than Sherlock thought possible. "John… love you," he breathed between kisses, arching his hips as John's finger curled against his prostate.   
  
“I know.” John smiled, adding a third finger when Sherlock was ready, stretching and pleasuring the little hole. “I love you too.” He murmured, as if it were so obvious, saying it was an afterthought.   
  
Sherlock threw his head back, his breath coming out in heavy pants as his arousal continued to grow. He wasn't going to last much longer at this rate. "J-John," he moaned, trying to alert him to his situation. “Nearly there?” John asked with a smirk. “Are you ready for my cock then?” He looked down at the man, gaze filled with love. He was so absolutely gorgeous, panting and undone like this. And all John’s doing too, he thought proudly.   
  
Sherlock was too high on the endorphins to reply coherently. "Please." he murmured, reaching up blindly so he could pull John down for a kiss. He was ready this time, without a doubt.   
  
John kissed him back as he slipped off his boxers and slicked himself up. Without breaking contact with Sherlock's lips, he pushed forwards, ever so slowly, into his lover. 


	63. *Obscene Sex Noises*

The kiss helped Sherlock relax so that the discomfort wasn't quite the same as last time, though it was still present. He didn't want John to pull out though, so he pressed harder into the kiss, hoping to distract both himself and John.   
  
John pressed forwards until he was fully seated in the detective. He pulled away from their kiss. "Are you ok, gorgeous?" He asked, lips barely an inch from Sherlock's.   
  
Sherlock breathed and focused on keeping himself relaxed as he adjusted to the sensation of John's cock inside him. He felt full, stretched to his limits, but there was little pain. _I'm okay. John's inside me. John is... inside me_ , he thought, smiling proudly. "I- I'm fine," he said with a grin. He rolled his hips just a little bit to prove his words, and ended up moaning obscenely at the feeling.   
  
John bit back a moan of his own at Sherlock's sound. "Are you sure? Do you need a minute? I can wait." He leaned down to kiss him softly.   
  
"I- Maybe we could just stay like this, for a moment," Sherlock murmured, reaching his arms up to wrap them behind John's shoulders, nuzzling his face into the crook of John's neck.   
  
John rested his forehead against Sherlock's. "Of course." He murmured. "Take all the time you need."   
  
Sherlock smiled against John's skin and placed an affectionate kiss under his jaw. After a second or two he placed another one a little further down. He repeated the action until he reached John's collar bone.   
  
John tilted his head back, shifting his hips slightly to get comfortable, forgetting, momentarily, that he was inside the other man. He froze, hoping he hadn't hurt him.   
  
"Do it again," Sherlock whispered, running a soothing hand down John's back.   
  
John pulled out of Sherlock an inch and pressed back in, watching his face for any signs of distress or discomfort.   
  
Sherlock's eyes rolled back slightly, and then corrected to look back at John, giving him a reassuring smile. He had no idea that it could feel like this. He wanted more.   
  
"John, keep moving. Please," he begged, wiggling his hips a little to try and get the sensation back that he was now craving.   
  
John smiled and moved again, pulling further out than before, pushing in slightly faster. Watching Sherlock beneath him and feeling his hot tightness around his cock nearly sent John over the edge but he tried to hold out. "Sherlock." He moaned.   
  
"John," Sherlock replied, hands clinging to John's back as he tried to hold on to reason. He felt like his bones were melting, heated by all the pleasurable sensations. "Ah!" Sherlock cried, followed by a moan as John had once again found his sweet spot. Pre-cum was already dripping from Sherlock's cock and he knew it wouldn't be much longer.   
  
At Sherlock's beautiful noises, John knew he was finished. He arched his back and emptied himself into his lover, biting back a yell. Exhausted, he collapsed on top of the detective, hand reaching down to bring him too to climax.   
  
Sherlock felt John's hot seed spill into him and as soon as John's hand stroked his member his back arched and he came, coating his stomach and John's chest. A final, breathy moan escaped him as his eyes fell closed and he found that all he was capable of doing for the moment was breathing.   
  
"I love you." John panted, wiping his hand on the already soiled duvet cover. He closed his eyes, head resting on Sherlock's chest. "Jesus, Sherlock Holmes, I love you."   
  
Sherlock grinned and chuckled softly before turning his head to gaze at his lover. "I love you too, John Watson," he murmured. "That was.. It was... fantastic."   
  
"I know." John breathed. "I feel like a newly flowered virgin all over again." He kissed the only skin of Sherlock's he could reach; a pale spot above the nipple. "I never want anyone but you." 


	64. "See, that's why I married you."

Sherlock sighed contently and pulled John up towards him for a lazy kiss. It wasn't particularly late, but he already felt completely exhausted.   
  
John smiled against Sherlock's lips. When the kiss ended, he sighed. "We'll need to order dinner in soon." He said ruefully. "And I'll also have to pull out."   
  
Sherlock blinked, having completely forgotten that John was still inside him. By that point, it felt natural.   
  
He didn't really want John to leave him. Though more like he didn't really want to get up, but he knew John would be insistent on dinner.   
  
"Can we eat in bed?"   
  
John grinned and kissed Sherlock's nose. "And, see, that, my genius, is why I married you." He murmured.   
  
Sherlock smiled and closed his eyes, figuring a moment or two of shut eye before dinner wouldn't be a bad idea. A small movement of John's cock reminded him yet again of the other problem. "I suppose you should, um, 'pull out' , as you said earlier."   
  
John groaned and slid his slicked member out of Sherlock before resuming his position on his lover's chest. He felt oddly cold without Sherlock's tight heat enveloping him. "Do you want to call the Chinese or will I?" He murmured.   
  
Sherlock squirmed a little as John pulled out, feeling some of his seed come out with him.   
  
"You should call, if you have the energy too. I'm comfy here," he mumbled, draping one hand over John's back.   
  
John nodded, reaching to his phone on the bedside table. He looked at the screen and blanched. "Well shit." He said, stabbing the screen with one finger and chucking the phone a few feet away. "Shit." He said again, burying his face in Sherlock's neck. "Crap." He added for emphasis.   
  
Sherlock frowned and quirked an eyebrow. "What's wrong?"   
  
"I think I dialled Lestrade before I put my phone down. I left him a voicemail. Mustn't've hung up." He squeaked in shame. "What do we do?"   
  
Sherlock's face turned bright red, and then completely blanched. No one was supposed to find out the truth.   
  
"We'll either need to steal his phone and delete the message before he can listen to it, or get to him before he tries to talk to anyone else about it," Sherlock said, gently rolling John off of him so he could clean off and get dressed. Time was of the essence.   
  
John groaned, rolling into the warm patch Sherlock had left. "Let me ring him again. I might be able to talk him out of listening to it." He murmured. He held his hand out in the general direction of the phone, far too tired to get up for it. "Phone." He demanded of Sherlock.   
  
Sherlock quickly retrieved the device from where it had landed and tossed it back to John on the bed. He climbed in next to him and sat upright, knees drawn against his chest as he listened nervously to the ringing sound coming from the phone. _Was this a mistake? Did we just ruin everything?_   
  
John pulled himself up and hugged Sherlock comfortingly. "It'll be ok." He murmured, entering the number and holding the device to his ear.   
  
Lestrade answered on the second ring, sounding very irritated. He didn't even wait for John to greet him before cursing the detective. "Tell Sherlock I haven't got a case for him. That's the third time he's left a voicemail of longer than half an hour on my phone. If he thinks I'm going to listen to him deduce me for another 40 minutes, he can think again." He breathed in deeply. "Sorry, John. Why did you call?"   
  
John blinked. "Just to apologise in his stead. For the voice messages. I heard him recording this one. I'm fairly sure violin screechings were involved." John lied easily. "Maybe best you don't listen to it. I'll make sure he doesn't do that again."   
  
Lestrade grunted and hung up.   
  
John lowered the phone and looked at Sherlock. "You were sending Lestrade long voice messages insulting him?" He demanded, eyebrows raised threateningly.   
  
Sherlock averted his gaze sheepishly, fearing John's wrath. "I, um... I was bored. I thought he was just withholding cases from me. And I wasn't necessarily _insulting_ him. All I ever did was state facts."   
  
John rolled his eyes. "You're ridiculous." He murmured fondly. He put the phone to his ear again. "That does mean I condone that behaviour." He said sternly before he sweetened his voice. "Hello. Sherlock Holmes here. The usual order to 221B Baker Street. Thank you." He hung up and returned his attention to his detective.   
  
"Do you think he'll actually delete the message before he listens to it?" Sherlock asked quietly. He couldn't rule out the possibility that Lestrade's curiosity would get the better of him. _What do we do then? Would he keep our secret?_   
  
"He believes it's the same as the last ones you sent him. I warned him about the violin. I honestly doubt he'd listen to it and if he did, he'd ring us for an explanation before telling anyone." John assured the detective, relaxing against him.   
  
Sherlock leaned into John's side, seeking his warmth and comfort. Probability suggests what John said was true, but it was a little unsettling to have their future resting in the hands on someone who wasn’t even aware he had it in the first place.   
  
"Next time we see him, you can pickpocket him to be sure though, ok?" John said, feeling just as uncertain as Sherlock, but better at hiding it.   
  
Sherlock nodded. That had been his back up plan too. The adrenaline from the phone scare was beginning to wear off and his earlier exhaustion was beginning to return. His eyes drooped once and before being startled back open by the sound of the doorbell. 


	65. "We'll be experts by the next time we're married."

John poked Sherlock in the ribs as they heard the doorbell sound. "Go get it." He slurred wearily. "You're wearing more clothes than I am and I already rang the take-away place. Go."  
  
Sherlock grumbled, but managed to stand up. His legs felt a bit wobbly from their earlier activities, but he made it to the door just fine and worked his way down the stairs. He grabbed some cash off the table on his way down. He open the door, quickly exchanging the cash for the food, and closed it without even glancing at delivery boy.  
  
John smiled as Sherlock reappeared. "How are you feeling?" He asked, taking the food from him and opening his own dish.  
  
"Tired. A bit sore, but that was expected," Sherlock replied, laying next to John.  
  
John smiled, taking a bite of the curry on his lap and chewing slowly. "I'm proud of you." He said softly after he'd swallowed.  
  
Sherlock smiled and turned his head to kiss a patch of skin above John's knee. "I'm glad we finally did this. Even if it wasn't while we were married." He eyed his bowl of food in front of him and debated how much of it he was willing to eat.  
  
"Well, we'll be experts by the next time we're married." John joked, watching Sherlock size up his dinner from the corner of his eye. _All of it_ , he wanted to say. _You're still too damn skinny; eat all of it_. But, instead, he said nothing.  
  
 _If there actually is a next time_ , Sherlock thought. He sat up and pulled the bowl towards himself, deciding that he would probably eat almost half. He leaned against the headboard as he place the first bite of spicy curry into his mouth.  
  
John said nothing as he watched Sherlock eat, wishing the man wasn't so against it as he was. His mind wandered his lover's father. He wondered if he believed that they hadn't been in love. He wondered if there was any way he'd be able to marry Sherlock again without actually killing the senior Mr Holmes. He wondered how people got jam inside jam donuts. Saying none of this aloud, he ate another bite of curry.  
  
Sherlock finished up half of his dish before setting it aside on the night stand. He proceeded to fall over dramatically, curling up behind John's back as the doctor continued to eat.  
  
"Sherlock." John whined. "Can you not eat _any_ more? For me?" He glared at the dish on the table as if that would make Sherlock magically ingest the food.  
  
Sherlock groaned and curled tighter around his blogger. "Physically, I am capable of eating more, though I fail to see the point of doing so," he replied.  
  
"Sherlock Watson-Holmes." John said sternly, forgetting for a moment that that was no longer their name. "Eat more of your dinner now or I will make you eat lunch for a week."  
  
Sherlock frowned and pulled away. "As I recall, you were my husband, not my mother," he countered, sticking his lip out in a pout.  
  
John didn't say a word, just raised his eyebrows at Sherlock, daring the man to disobey him.  
  
"This staring contest won't get us anywhere," Sherlock argued after a minute or two of silence, feeling in a very stubborn mood. _I ate half. Why isn't that enough? It's still more than I eat on a regular basis._ He sat back and folded his legs criss-cross in front of him, arms crossed over his chest.  
  
"Fine." John agreed. "You will have lunch and dinner for the next seven days." He said, planning to keep true to his word. "Unless you want to eat more now and change your fate."  
  
"If you can't force me to eat now, how do you plan on forcing me to eat later?" Sherlock asked, one eyebrow quirked skeptically.  
  
John smirked. "Well it'll be a lot easier to force you to do things when you're more susceptible to teasing." His hand ghosted over Sherlock crotch. "Won't work now. But tomorrow?"  
  
Sherlock tried to keep himself from shuddering at the anticipation of John's teasing. "I-I can resist. I have perfect control of my transport." _**Nearly** perfect control of my transport but I should be able to ignore John flirting_.  
  
John nodded. "Of course you can." He said, clearly not convinced. "I'll make sure to buy extra food this week."  
  
"I bet you'll be begging for intercourse before I do," Sherlock said, a bit riled at the fact that John didn't seem to believe he could do it.  
  
John snorted. "I think you grossly underexaggerate my masturbastion skills." He said slyly.  
  
Sherlock pouted, but then broke into a teasing smirk. "I bet it won't be nearly as satisfying now that you have had the pleasure of taking me."  
  
John rolled his eyes. "If it means you eat, I'll manage."  
  
"And what if I honestly don't want to eat?"  
  
"And what if I honestly don't care?" John countered in a similar tone. "I'm worried about you, Sherlock." He added, voice softening. "I love you and you're not healthy and it scares me."  
  
"I'm perfectly fine," Sherlock muttered, pouting once again. He didn't like being told something was wrong with him.  
  
"I'll be the judge of that. I am the doctor." John paused. "Well not that Doctor. But an ordinary doctor. The only doctor of the two of us." He cleared his throat. "And doctor's orders are 'you have to eat more'. Only a fool argues with his doctor." He cocked his head to one side and looked fondly at the man wrapped around him.  
  
Sherlock narrowed his eyes before pulling away with a sigh. It was clear he wasn't going to get away with his usual eating schedule, but he had no plans to eat lunch _and_ dinner. He reached behind him and grabbed the remainder of his curry and took a small, reluctant bite.  
  
John kissed Sherlock's temple. "Thank you." He murmured, taking a last bite of his own meal and setting it down where Sherlock's had been.  
  
Sherlock grunted, but continued eating until only a few bites remained. He showed the nearly empty dish to the doctor before setting it down on top of John's.  
  
John smiled. "Thank you. Are you as ready to sleep as I am?" He asked softly.  
  
Sherlock rolled his eyes and fell back with a wumph onto his pillow. "I have rarely felt so eager to sleep."  
  
John giggled, flicking off the light and curling up beside Sherlock. "We should have sex more often then." He teased. "You might sleep and eat like a real human then."  
  
"I am a real human," Sherlock replied with a frown, shuffling a bit closer to John's warmth.  
  
"I know, baby, but you really don't act like one sometimes." John joked, his eyes closing with fatigue.  
  
The word 'freak' came to mind and Sherlock found himself rolling so that his back was towards John. _I am human. So what if I've optimized my eating habits?_ he thought with a frown.  
  
John sighed. "I didn't mean it like that, Sherlock. You know I would never mean that." He watched Sherlock's back ruefully. "Please, love."  
  
The detective hesitated, but slowly rolled back over and nestled himself against John's chest. "I know," he whispered.  
  
John held Sherlock tightly. "I love you." He murmured. "Now and forever. You're an amazing man. Full of love and brilliance. And whatever those idiots out in the world say doesn't matter."  
  
Sherlock nodded and placed a grateful kiss on the nearest region of John (his non-injured shoulder), thinking about how much it would kill him if he ever lost this wonderful man. _I will do everything within my power to protect John Watson. That is a promise to him and myself_. His eyelids fluttered shut and he allowed the combine sensations of John's touch and scent to lull him to sleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So my mum planned a holiday that I didn't kow I was going on to an island two hours (and a long boat-ride) from civilisation. I have no idea when I'll be back but it'll be Friday at the latest.
> 
> Sorry, guys.  
> Liz xx


	66. "You really are great at solving cases."

John opened the fridge.   
  
One human tongue (blue), an empty milk carton and some cheddar (worryingly also blue).   
  
"Right." He grumbled to himself. "Sherlock?" He called to his flatmate/lover/whatever-the-hell-Sherlock-was. "I'm going to Tesco. Be back in an hour or so, alright?"   
  
Sherlock grunted a reply, not looking away from his laptop. He was working an old case for Lestrade involving a murdered museum guard and a missing Egyptian artifact and was trying to lure out the culprit on an online auction. _Come on! I know it's you, reginaphilangi10_.   
  
"Love you too." John said with teasing pointedness, shrugging into his coat and leaving the flat. On his way out, he popped in to see if Mrs Hudson needed anything. She didn't. He stepped onto the street and hailed a cab.   
  
A black car - one of Mycroft's, John presumed - pulled up instead. The soldier frowned but clambered in anyway. Mycroft's car was cheaper than a cab.   
  
"Ha! Got him, John!" Sherlock exclaimed, pulling out his phone to send Lestrade a text. He tossed it aside and turned around, expecting John to be standing there with either a smile, a look of confusion/annoyance, or a kiss, something. The living room was empty. _Where is he?_ Something about Tesco's echoed in his brain and he reached over to grab his phone again.   
  
[ _Solved the case. It was the archaeologist. SH_ ]   
  
The reply came far too quickly.   
  
[ _That’s wonderful, Sherlock. You really are great at solving cases. Especially murders._ ]   
  
[ _Speaking of, there might be a new one for you very soon._ ]   
  
Sherlock's heart dropped to his stomach as he read the messages. _That's not John responding_.   
  
[ _Who is this? What have you done with John? SH_ ]   
  
"Please, please, don't let it be _him_." Sherlock begged, the worse scenarios playing out in his head. _Stupid. I should have taken more precautions_.   
  
[ _I don't know what you're talking about. I'm grand_. ]   
  
_Grand? John would never use that phrase_ … Sherlock felt his blood run cold.   
  
[ _Moriarty. SH_ ]   
  
[ _I see we're no longer on a first name basis_. ]   
  
[ _Holmes_. ]   
  
[ _Not as thick as you look then. Well done_. ]   
  
[ _But knowing who has your plaything won't help you at all, really_. ]   
  
Sherlock clenched his fist in frustration and ran a hand through his hair. _Calm down. You need to stay calm. Sentiment will not help get John back_.   
  
[ _What do you want? We wouldn't be speaking like this if your only goal was to kill John. SH_ ]   
  
[ _Kill little Johnny? No no, that's not really what the aim of this exercise is. Just want to... teach him a lesson. That's all_. ]   
  
Sherlock didn't like the sound of that. He needed to know what Jim had planned.   
  
[ _What kind of lesson? What are you going to do to him? SH_ ]   
  
[ _Sherly, you are asking far too many questions. John will be back to you in one piece. If he wants to go back to you, that is._ ]   
  
"I don't have time for this," Sherlock growled. He closed the message and pressed one of the speed dial options on his phone. His foot tapped impatiently while he waited for his brother to answer.   
  
* _Click_ *   
  
"Moriarty has John. I need to find him," Sherlock spat out, not even waiting for a greeting.   
  
There was a long silence on the other end of the line as Mycroft checked the location of his brother's pint-sized flatmate. "Sherlock, Dr Watson is in Tesco. He got in a cab outside Baker Street and went straight there. Why do you think he's in danger?"   
  
"Because Jim is _texting_ me from John's phone. Your surveillance system has failed, brother mine." Sherlock wanted to punch a wall. _Think. Think. Where would they have gone?_ "What was the number of the cab he took?"   
  
"The cab." There was the sound of Mycroft tapping computer keys with his fingers. "Oh." He said softly. "The cab supposedly belonged to Eddy Miles. The same Eddy Miles whose murder you solved not ten days ago. Clearly we have been duped."   
  
"No, really?" Sherlock retorted, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "Your intellect in these matters astounds me, brother."   
  
Mycroft glared at the phone. "Do you want my help or not?" He growled.   
  
"Can you tell me where the cab went?" Sherlock asked, not bothering to apologise.   
  
Mycroft sighed. "I told you. According to our surveillance, Dr Watson went straight to Tesco and is currently shopping there. Apologies, but we have no idea where he really is."   
  
"What's the point of all this surveillance if you can't even keep track of us properly?" Sherlock yelled into the phone. He started storming down the hall to his room, planning on getting dressed and going out to begin his search, pausing only to check his phone. He had a new message.   
  
[ _You don't actually think you can save him, do you? Oh Sherlock, you are adorable_. ]   
  
Sherlock scowled at the words. He would save John. He had to. He pulled the phone back to his ear and placed it against his shoulder as he started pulling on a pair of trousers. "Mycroft, Moriarty had been gone three years while we destroyed his entire network. Is it possible...?" Sherlock didn't finish his question, trusting his brother to fill in the blanks.   
  
"That he lived?" Mycroft finished. "I did not think we left room for that possibility, however, dear brother, you yourself are alive so I would rule nothing out."   
  
"But why is he attacking now?" Sherlock growled, putting the phone on speaker so he could put on shirt.   
  
"Well." Mycroft said slowly, the 'I don't know' clear in his voice. "Did you ever think maybe Jim wasn't the... boss?"   
  
Sherlock paused in his actions and quirked an eyebrow at the phone. "He's not really the type to take orders," he replied slowly, thinking back to all that he knew of Jim Moriarty to see if he could find any clues that suggested otherwise.   
  
"Perhaps he has a weakness, brother. Even you would obey orders to save your doctor." Mycroft murmured.   
  
"Who could possibly find and exploit one of _his_ weaknesses, supposing he has any. He doesn't care for people. He was only interested in the game and I thought _that_ would be his downfall. If I couldn't find it than..." Sherlock's words stuck in his throat and his eyes grew wide with revelation. "This is all too much of a coincidence, isn't it? Moriarty attacking John. It's possible _he_ could be behind this." Sherlock had to sit down so he collapsed onto his bed and bent over to cradle his head in his hands. The sense of dread was almost crippling.   
  
"Him?" Mycroft frowned. "You think Father would do this? Send me all the messages Jim sent to you."   
  
After Sherlock had done so there was another moment of silence. "Well that would explain the 'if he wants to come back' line." Mycroft said, swallowing thickly. "Brother, do you want help? I abhor fieldwork but I feel I can make an exception this one time. I, too, am rather fond of your husband. He has done you good these last few years."   
  
The normal response for Sherlock would be to tell his brother off and hang up before darting out of the flat to solve the case on his own, but this was _John_. His John. "I... I can't lose him, Mycroft," he said quietly, voice cracking. "Help me save him."   
  
"Of course I will. I'll get Susan - No wait, what's that name she's using nowadays? 'Anthea', is it? - I'll get her to mind the office for me." There was a pause. "He will be ok, Sherlock." There was an odd un-Mycroft-like softness to his voice. "We'll find him."   
  
"I hope so. I'll wait for you at the flat. Hurry."   
  
"I'm already getting into the car, Sherlock. Don't worry."   
  
Sherlock hung up and tossed his phone aside to continue getting dressed. In less than 5 minutes, he was fully outfitted and waiting impatiently for his brother out on the curb. 


	67. "We will find your doctor, Sherlock."

Mycroft pulled up after Sherlock had been waiting for five minutes. "Brother?" He asked, climbing gracefully out of the car. "You're waiting outside for me?" He was suddenly reminded of his brother, at age six, waiting for hours on the steps of Holmes Manor for Mycroft to come home from boarding school. He pushed the image away. Sentiment. Disgusting.   
  
"Well, we already know he's not in the flat. We need to go to the spot he was picked up. Look for other means of surveillance that might have picked up what you didn't. We should also stop by Waterloo bridge. I can have my homeless network aid us." His words were quick and his eyes were already flitting about, looking for anything or anyone that could have seen his husband before Moriarty's goons ferried him away.   
  
Mycroft nodded and gestured to the car. "Do you want to take the car?" He said sarcastically. "Or shall we jog?"   
  
Sherlock rolled his eyes and strode over to the backdoor of the vehicle. "We don't have time for these petty disputes. We'll call a truce for now and go back to avoiding each other after John is safe."   
  
Mycroft rolled his eyes, facial expression looking the spitting image of his younger brother's. "Of course, brother." He climbed into the leather-seated mercedes and, once the doors were closed, told the driver to start. "What do you know?"   
  
"Not as much as I'd like. I don't think he ever made it to Tesco's though. He must have been picked up nearby. You should check Speedy's and see if their security feed picked up anything."   
  
"I'll get some of my men to retrieve it for me and have it in my office when we're done with your homeless folk." Mycroft said, taking out his phone and putting it to his ear. He murmured orders down it for a few minutes before hanging up.   
  
"Do you have any cash on you?" Sherlock asked, holding out his hand expectantly.   
  
"Why should I have to pay your vagabonds? You want to find your good doctor more than I." Nevertheless, Mycroft took out his wallet, opening it and looking at Sherlock with a 'how much do you need?' expression on his face.   
  
Sherlock ignored his comment and ran the numbers in his head. "A fifty should guarantee that we hear something by tonight."   
  
Mycroft extracted the crisp note (freshly printed, of course) and handed it wordlessly to his brother.   
  
Sherlock took it and pulled out a note he had already written and folded it within the bill. As soon as the driver pulled up to the bridge he sprang out and looked around for a moment. He spotted what he was looking for quickly and strode over to a figure huddled in an oversize jacket and a hat laid out in front that held a few sparse coins. Sherlock dropped the bill into the hat and gave the man a nod before heading back in the direction of his brother's car.   
  
Mycroft watched this transaction with distaste. When Sherlock got back into the car, they began to drive again. "Do you have anything else to do before we go my office?"   
  
Sherlock shook his head, keeping his eyes glued out the window as if hoping to catch some random glimpse of John safe and sound on the streets of London.   
  
"We will find your doctor, Sherlock." Mycroft murmured.   
  
A silence settled over the brothers that lasted until they pulled up outside of Mycroft's office. They both got out of the car and Mycroft led the way to the grey underground room.   
  
"Do we have the tape?" Sherlock asked, standing behind one of the chairs in Mycroft's office. He didn't see the point of sitting down if there was the possibility they would be rushing right back out.   
  
Mycroft nodded, holding up a memory stick that had been placed in the centre of his spotless desk. "Sit." He demanded of his younger brother. "We have to watch this, do we not?"   
  
"I can watch while I'm standing," he replied, moving so that he was in view of Mycroft's monitor. He doubted he was capable of sitting still right now anyway.   
  
Mycroft rolled his eyes. He plugged the key into the computer and opened the first file he found. "This is of last night." He said, though Sherlock clearly knew that.   
  
"John was taken this morning, not last night. We can check these files later, though I doubt there is anything relevant."   
  
Mycroft rolled his eyes. "It wouldn't be here if my men didn't think it was relevant, Sherlock."   
  
Sherlock sighed and leaned forward to focus on the tape. "What did they see?"   
  
"I don't know, brother. So pull up a chair, shut up and let's find out." Mycroft hissed.   
  
Sherlock scowled before storming over and grabbing a chair. He let it scrape across the floor until it sat next to Mycroft's. He slumped into it crossing one leg over the other, and giving his attention to the screen.   
  
The older Holmes pressed the play button and relaxed back into his seat and watched the monitor closely. 


	68. "What have you found?"

Twenty minutes passed in complete silence until a strange movement in the screen caused Mycroft to jerk forward. "What was that?"   
  
Sherlock rolled his eyes, slouching back in his chair. "Mrs. Turner's cat," he drawled. "I swear, this better not be a complete waste of time," he warned. Five more minutes passed and Sherlock was about ready to murder which ever one of Mycroft's men thought this footage was useful when a familiar looking vehicle drove through the shot.   
  
Mycroft, noting Sherlock's reaction, paused and rewound the tape, playing through it more slowly. "You recognise it?" He asked.   
  
"It looks like your car. At first glance. Some obvious differences, but not anything a normal person would pick up on. At least not right away."   
  
Mycroft nodded uncertainly, not seeing how this vehicle was in any way like the car he usually sent for John (it was clearly 18 months older and had had been polished by someone much less skilled than his own car-washer). "So they park here in the hope that John leaves the house for his usual pub trip with Lestrade." The man hypothisised. "But John doesn't leave." He glanced at Sherlock with a smirk. "Three guesses why not." He added sarcastically.   
  
"Really? Do you need all three, brother? You really are out of practice," Sherlock teased. He really didn't feel like confirming his big brother's assumption of last night's activities. Sherlock reached over and pressed the fast forward button. "The car takes off an hour later, but I don't think it goes too far. Likely it's waiting just down the block, waiting until the next day."   
  
Mycroft nodded but set the tape back its normal speed to finish off the night. It was growing very dark on screen now; dusk settling over the filmed footpath as sand to the bottom of a water tank. Sherlock, thinking he had seen all there was to see, was about to complain when Mycroft spotted the hooded figure stopping outside the door of 221B.   
  
"There." He said, pausing the footage. "Early thirties, transgender man, has broken his left leg twice in the last ten years. That's Moriarty's henchman."   
  
"What is he doing?" Sherlock asked, observing the stranger.   
  
Mycroft studied the screen. "He appears to be just watching. Listening too, probably." The British Government froze. "As much as I hate to ask this... How loud were you? Last night."   
  
Sherlock's face turned red before he could stop it. He scowled and looked away as his thoughts went back to last night. "John wanted to take advantage of Mrs. Hudson's absence." He replied quietly. John had been in a very teasing mood and Sherlock had practically screamed when he finally came. _I still can't figure out how John did that thing with his tongue_.   
  
Mycroft pinched the bridge of his nose, reading what Sherlock wasn't saying in his face. "So basically, there was a man standing outside your flat trying to figure out if you actually are a couple or not and you give him _exactly_ what he's looking for."   
  
"It's not like either of us were aware of his presence!" Sherlock defended, though that did nothing to stop the guilt. He should have been more careful. He ran a hand up the back of his neck and fisted it in his hair, cursing himself for being so stupid.   
  
Mycroft sighed. His brother felt bad enough with his input. "Now. It's been proved that you are, in fact, in a relationship with your doctor... If father found out about this, he would have no problem destroying John."   
  
"We can't let that happen," Sherlock replied, desperation in his voice. "We can fix this, right?"   
  
"We are definitely going to try."   
  
There was a knock on the door. "Come in." Mycroft called. A man in a black suit came in.   
  
"We’ve found a lead on the car in the video." He said in a dispassionate tone.   
  
"Who? Where? Give us the details," Sherlock growled. The man ignored him and looked straight at Mycroft, waiting for orders.   
  
The British Government raised one eyebrow. "Well?" He said expectantly. "I am working with my brother so, until further notice, you are to listen to him as well as me. What have you found?"   
  
The man nodded, his face impressively impassive, and placed a file on the table. Mycroft reached for it but his younger brother snatched it before it was in his grasp.   
  
Sherlock flipped the file open and skimmed through it's contents. "Security footage spotted a similar vehicle driving along the Thames, heading away from the warehouse district. How typical. Seems too obvious, don't you think?" he asked, tossing the folder to his brother.   
  
Mycroft scanned the document, frowning. "If you're making things up, I swear to God, Sherlock." He left the open-ended threat hanging in the air.   
  
Sherlock scoffed and dismissed the threat with a wave of his hand. "That eye-witness was planted. It's a trap. Actually, no. Too obvious to be a trap. More like a summons. The minimal amount of effort they put into it suggests they don't believe that I'd ignore it."   
  
Mycroft nodded, lips flattening into a thin line. "Right. Well then there's no way I'm letting you go there."   
  
"Good thing I don't need your permission then." Sherlock stood and smoothed out his coat in a dramatic fashion. Whoever was waiting for him knew where John was, and he wasn't going to let this opportunity pass by.   
  
"Sherlock." Mycroft said sternly. "If these men want you there then there is the _last_ place you should be. I know you want to get revenge for what they may have done to John, but you can't go. I'll send my men. They're good at this sort of stuff."   
  
"So what am I suppose to do? Just sit here with you in your silly office drinking posh tea? John's counting on me. He needs me. I won't risk his life by playing it safe, regardless of how 'good' your men are."   
  
Mycroft banged the metal tip of his umbrella on the polished stone floor. "Sherlock Holmes, you are no good to Doctor Watson dead. Now _stay in this room_."   
  
Sherlock was momentarily taken aback by the tone in Mycroft's voice. His eyes narrowed into a glare and he took a short step towards his brother. "No. At the very least I plan to go with your men. The only way you could keep me here is if you tied me to one of your chairs, and even then I bet I can escape in the course of an hour. I can't - I can't just do nothing!"   
  
"Sherlock." Mycroft's voice softened. If Sherlock didn't know better, he'd say it was tinged with sentiment. "Please, don't go. I refuse to save John by letting you die."   
  
Sherlock huffed and ran a hand through his hair, closing his eyes while he attempted to calm himself. _What would John have me do?_   
  
_'I wouldn't let you run into a trap, you utter idiot. I'd never forgive you if you got hurt to save me,'_ echoed John's voice in his head. Sherlock sighed and collapsed back into the chair.   
  
"Fine. Send your men. But have them bring whoever they find back to me. I want to interrogate them. And then I want to be there when we go rescue John. Those are my conditions."   
  
Mycroft sighed. "We're going to try and get John out now." He pressed a button on his keyboard telling the men to leave. "But if he's willing, you can go straight in to see him in the hospital."   
  
"What do you mean if he's willing? Why wouldn't he be?"   
  
"You read the texts, Sherlock. I fear they may be performing some sort of psychotronic torture on your dear doctor. If we don't get to him soon... well..." Mycroft sighed deeply. "He may never trust you again. Perhaps even worse."   
  
"Psychotronic… Why do you speak as if you're so certain this is what's happening to John? What do you know that I don't?" Sherlock demanded. He stood tall in front of his brother, using his height as a means of intimidation. His eyes were locked on like a hawk, analyzing every tiny facial expression that crossed his brother's face.   
  
"Brother, you are clearly to close to this situation to see what I can. I thought it was perfectly obvious from the second John went missing that we would either find him in pain or dead. Father would hardly lock him up with tea and a DVD player, now would he? This final text from Moriarty-" He flashed Sherlock the text in question ( _...if he wants to come back to you, that is._ ) "-confirmed my theory that if we find John alive, he will probably have been tortured into thinking you're the bad guy." There was a pause. "Remember the little girl who screamed when she saw you, leading Donovan to think you kidnapped her? It will be like that. But a lot worse."   
  
Sherlock shrank back, eyes dancing back and forth as he replayed the memory. The girl had been so genuinely terrified. Her face began to shift until a pair of older, blue eyes that had seen far too much were staring back at him. Fear and hatred screamed from their depths, stubborn tears pooling around the brim. "They can't - He can't… He's a soldier. He's stronger than that." _He has to be_.   
  
Mycroft bowed his head. "Apologies, Sherlock. It's beyond our control."   
  
Sherlock had nothing left to say. He moved over to the wall and slid down to the floor, cradling his knees against his chest. He kept his eyes fixed on the door, using every ounce of self-restraint to not go flying through them and across the whole of London. A new fear sank like a rock in his stomach. A scene where he and John were finally reunited, but when their eyes met, John began to scream. John hating him. John leaving him for good.   
  
Mycroft gazed at his brother, wishing there was something he could do. His phone rang and he picked it up, leaving the room to take the call.   
  
"Watch him." He mouthed at 'Anthea' as he walked past her.   
  
Sherlock listen to the door click shut and looked up, disappointed to see what's-her-name standing at the door, texting away as usual. He felt like a scared, useless child. 


	69. "Is Sherly With Them?"

"Any movement on the warehourse, yet? I'm surprised it's taking them this long." A sickeningly smooth voice snaked through the air, winding it's way into the ears of a small hooded man who was leaning against the far wall.   
  
The small hooded figure chuckled a grating laugh. "They're on their way, only leaving their little hideout now." He had a strange accent; part Scottish, part Texan, as if someone had extracted all that sounded evil from each and put them in the voicebox of one man.   
  
"Good. Is Sherly with them?"   
  
The hooded man looked up at his companion guiltily. "I can't see him." He confessed. The look on his face was laughable; meek suited this man like chocolate suited broccoli.   
  
Moriarty turned his head just slightly to eye the man through narrow slits. He held the look for nearly a minute before the deafening silence was broken with a snort. The Irish man in the Westwood suit burst out into a fit of maniacal laughter, doubling over and putting one hand on the wall to support himself. "Ha! This is _too_ good. Perfect, actually. I truly am a genius, being able to play both Holmes brothers. Ahh. Makes things so much easier." Moriarty took a moment to regain his composure, letting a few more chuckles out as he walked over to take a look at the feed. "We should show this to Johnny-boy. He kept going on about how Sherlock would come for him, after all."   
  
The hooded figure smiled weakly. "He is rather stubborn. Perhaps if we convince him that Holmes doesn't care for him before we make him hate the detective, we could be more successful." Moran was mainly thinking aloud to himself at this stage. "That is a rather excellent plan, Jim." He said with uncharacteristic fondness.   
  
Jim rolled his eyes and sighed. "Of course it is. It's my plan, isn't it? Now what are you waiting for? I'm sure Johnny is dying to know how close they are to finding him." Jim turned back to the screen and waved Moran off, faking a smile at the chaos that he had created.   
  
Moran nodded and hurried from the room. He ran down three flights of stairs to the 'experimentation room'. Typing in the twelve-digit keycode, he strode into the dark, bare room.   
  
A small muscular figure lay, tied to an operating table, in the centre. Captain John Watson M.D. glanced up wearily as Moran entered.   
  
"I have a video to show you." Moran crooned. "Your rescuers are on their way. They think." 


	70. "Give a man a licence to kill and it's like that's all he ever does."

Sherlock's head shot up as he heard the door open once again and he wasted no time scrambling to his feet. "Where is he? Did they find anyone?"   
  
Mycroft shook his head. "They put us on a false trail. There were a few snipers, supposedly to catch you, but other than that, the place was empty." He glanced at his watch. "I think you should get some rest."   
  
"I can rest when John is found. Have you brought any of the snipers in for interrogation?"   
  
Mycroft rolled his eyes. "My men are idiots. They killed them." He huffed. "I swear, give a man a licence to kill and it's like that's all he ever does."   
  
Sherlock looked down and his shoulders started trembling, like a spring ready to snap. His left hand flew out and into the wall, leaving a noticeable hole. "Don't act like this is a game. We can't afford idiotic mistakes like that," Sherlock growled.   
  
"Sherlock." Mycroft said sternly. "I am not at all trying to take this lightly. Please understand that every one of the men in that squad who fired a killing shot has been let go. There is nothing else we can do but look for another way to find Dr Watson."   
  
"I'll find him. I'm going back to Baker Street. No doubt by now my homeless network has done a far better job of obtaining any information," Sherlock huffed. Small drops of blood dripped from his hand and onto the grey floor, but Sherlock hardly noticed. He flipped up his lapels and started to leave.   
  
Mycroft sighed, not bothering to protest. "Good luck, dear brother. If you need any assistance, do not hesitate to come to me."   
  
Sherlock didn't bother with a response as he stormed out the door. Once he was outside he hailed a cab and quickly climbed inside before muttering his address at the driver. Once the cab was a block away he leaned his head against the cool window and sighed. _I'll find you, John. Just hold on._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another short chapter again today. Sorry guys. Tomorrow's is longer, I promise.


	71. "Can I be the one to kill your father?"

Dr Watson refused to believe them. _There must be a reason Sherlock didn't go. Mycroft must have convinced him. He loves me. I know he loves me_.   
  
John closed his eyes and bit down on nothing as a scalpel was dragged down his forearm. He felt like Simon, the decapitated head that spend weeks under Sherlock's surveillance. No. He couldn't think like that. He couldn't compare this to what Sherlock did. Sherlock would never do this. Never. Not to John.   
  
*******   
  
Sherlock didn't hear from anyone until the next morning when there was a knock on the door. A young man pretending to be selling newspapers slipped him a note. Sherlock took it inside and read it quickly before running back upstairs to prepare himself. That evening he went out in disguise. His usually smooth face was adorned with wrinkles and his immaculate suites was replaced tattered jeans, a t-shirt, and a dark jacket. His curls were straightened out and powdered to give him an older appearance. The result meant he didn't draw too much attention when he wandered into a small pub known as The One-Eyed Donkey. He gave a quick look around the place and trudged over to a small table located near the bar, not too far from a familiar looking figure wearing a dark hoodie and drinking with a couple of thuggish looking friends.   
  
"Shezza." Came a greeting growl from under the hood. "I suppose you're here about your plaything?" One wave of the hand, and the hooded figure's associates upped and left. "Sit."   
  
Sherlock scowled, but dropped the facade. He yanked out a stool next to Moran and plopped down before waving off the hovering barkeeper.   
  
Moran didn't look up as the detective sat down. "Are you here to threaten me?" He mocked, taking a sip from the vulgar German beer in front of him.   
  
"Don't be obtuse. Can't really threaten a man with nothing to lose now, can I?" Sherlock replied coolly.   
  
"Nothing to lose?" Moran gave a 'if only you knew' chuckle. "Well then why are you here? Don't tell me the great Sherlock Holmes is going to beg."   
  
"I've never begged and I won't start now. What I've come to offer is a deal. The only thing I want is for John Watson to be released, safe and sound with the guarantee that he will never be targeted again in the future. I am willing to provide you with whatever you desire in exchange." Sherlock fixed his gaze on Moran, trying to read some sort of answer from his gruff face.   
  
Moran ducked his head down to hide his expression. "You'd never be able to get me what I want." He growled. "And even if you could, you know as well as I that I couldn't guarantee your safety. Even if I managed to get Watson to you alive."   
  
Sherlock leaned forward and gripped Moran's arm tightly. "My safety is irrelevant. Name your price."   
  
Moran shook his head. "I mean you plural. You and your doctor. You'll never be safe again unless I kill your father." Moran blinked, as if almost considering this, then shook his head. "I don't like it, either. Actually, I hate doing this and I hate him. Homophobic fuckhead. But he's got Jim on some kind of leverage and there's nothing we can do."   
  
Sherlock sighed and let his head fall to the table. "Interesting to note that even London's worst criminals still have a higher moral standard than my father." He moped for about a minute while Moran nursed his beer. "Does Jim know you're sexually attracted to him?"   
  
There was a pause.   
  
"No." Moran said (though it was more of a pathetic moan), not surprised at all that the genius had figured it out. "And he never will, either." He threatened. The assassin sighed heavily. "There's nothing I can do to get Watson back to you. Unless you have a plan, because I can't think of anything that might work."   
  
"If I did, you'd be willing to aid me?" Sherlock asked, still slightly skeptic about trusting the same person who had likely beaten and kidnapped John already. _I can get revenge later. Saving John comes first_.   
  
"Yes." There was a pause. "One question. Can I be the one to kill your father if the chance arises?"   
  
"Fine by me. I'd rather not have to look at his wretched face longer than necessary," Sherlock replied with a scowl.   
  
Moran nodded. "I drove the car." He said quietly. "And I... I, personally, have never caused him physical pain. The only reason I'm still here at all is because Holmes has something on Jim. I'm an assassin, detective. People pay me to get rid of people they don't like. That doesn't mean I condone torture."   
  
"Does he ever show up in person? My father?"   
  
"He welcomed Watson when we arrived with him, delivered the first punch. He has come to visit each day at six am and four pm so far."   
  
"Father always did like to keep a schedule," Sherlock muttered, fist clenching on the bartop. "He probably brings a couple of his own men with him to keep an eye on you and Jim while he's there... Though the real clever trick would be to find out what he has on the infamous Moriarty and take it away. And I think I know how to find out."   
  
Moran frowned. "I've asked and asked but Jim won't say. What do you suggest if he won't even tell _me_?"   
  
"My father is smart. He wouldn't just keep the information locked away in his head. He would have a backup plan, so that if you or Jim turned on him, his threat would still be carried out. If we get rid of the backup information he has on Moriarty, you two are free to end him as you see fit."   
  
Moran nodded. "But we need to know what he has on Jim before we can do anything." He said slowly. "How do we get Jim to tell us?"   
  
Sherlock sighed and ran a hand through his hair. The last time he met the mad man, Jim had cared for one thing only: The Game. _What's changed since then?_   
  
"Think, Moran. Has there been anything, any _one_ even, that he's seemed more protective of? Moriarty doesn't seem to be the kind to let his past actions affect him. So it has to something physical."   
  
Moran blinked. "I can't think of anything. He's very fond of his suits. But he'd still burn them before he let anything happen to..." He paused frowning. "You don't think...?" He murmured, incredulous.   
  
"Perhaps he not exactly the psychopath we thought he was. If I'm right, my father is pulling off the same threat Moriarty did three years ago, which means there's a bullet out there with _your_ name on it."   
  
Moran hid behind his hood to cover the lopsided grin on his face. "So what do we need to do to make sure I'm sufficiently out of harm's way?" He said after a moment of collecting himself. "Because Jim won't help you otherwise."   
  
"This won't be a simple matter of leaving the country. My father has contacts everywhere..." Sherlock said, steepling his fingers underneath his chin. He thin got a wicked idea and turned to Moran with a devilish grin. "The only way you'd be safe," he purred, "is if you were dead. Oh, this is too perfect."   
  
Moran sat back. "If you killed me, Jim would kill John before you could put down the gun." He growled.   
  
Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I wouldn't _actually_ kill you. I wouldn't be in any way involved. You'd commit suicide. Follow in my footsteps, so to speak," he said with a clever wink. _If Moran fakes his suicide, Father won't have leverage. Jim can go crazy and kill him in revenge, and then Moran can return from the dead and I get John. Perfect!_   
  
Moran grinned, then faltered. "Would Jim be in on it? I don't think I could put him through what you put John through."   
  
Sherlock pressed his lips together and thought for a moment. As much as he would love to put Moriarty through John's pain, he needed to make sure that the psychopath didn't just kill John as well. "Fortunately, Jim is a better actor than John. He only gets to know because I need to guarantee John won't be harmed. Understand? However, we need to let him know discretely."   
  
"There aren't any cameras in our flat. Only microphones. It shouldn't be difficult to tell him when I get home." With that, Moran made a move to stand. "Jim will meet you here at six am tomorrow morning." He said slowly. "I'll be dead by then." He bit his lip. "I'm truly sorry for all the hurt Jim caused you in the past. And for everything you're going through now."   
  
Sherlock grunted and waved him off. "Just make sure your death looks convincing. When this is over, I'll have John, you'll have Jim, and we won't ever have to see each other again."   
  
Moran shrugged. "I don't know. Jim might want a double date sometime." He teased. He didn't wait for a response from the detective, simply sauntering off.   
  
Sherlock remained at the bar for another half hour before he too took off, still in disguise. His stomach was twisted into nervous knots, unsure if his plan would work or not. It was too late to stop it now, though. He snuck into 221B through the fire escape and rid himself of his disguise before making it out to the living room. The only thing left for him to do now, was wait. 


	72. "You have nothing on me."

Six am came and Jim was not at the booth of the bar in the filthiest part of London. He knew his being there was Moran's 'dying wish', but he needed to rid the world of a certain Mr Holmes first. He glanced at his watch and removed his gun from his pocket.   
  
There were footsteps on the corridor near where he was hidden. "I know you're there, James." Came a silky voice.   
  
"Seb's dead." Jim choked out. "You have nothing on me. I have nothing to lose." He turned to face the older man. "And you will die."   
  
A single gunshot was fired.   
  
*******   
  
Sherlock slammed his glass down on the counter and stormed out of the bar. He was beyond frustrated, not knowing where Jim was or what happened to Moran. He only prayed that he hadn't been a fool.   
  
Just as Sherlock exited the bar, James Moriarty showed up, panting slightly.   
  
"Sherlock." He said as smoothly as he could. "I hope you weren't waiting long."   
  
Sherlock eyed him warily, trying to deduce what had happened. "Only for the better part of an hour," he replied. "I'm sure you had some important business to attend to this morning that caused you to run late."   
  
Jim grinned. "My sympathies, Sherlock Holmes. Your father was in a _tragic_ gun-related accident this morning and did not make it out alive." He joked. "We still have to get through his people but they'll be disorganised without his command. And John... He is stronger than ordinary men. But I fear he may still distrust you."   
  
Sherlock's eyes narrowed, but he did his best to stay in control of his temper. "Where is John now?" he growled.   
  
Jim stepped forward and hailed a cab. One pulled up immediately. He opened the door and gestured inside. "You have to trust me, Sherlock. I'll take you to him."   
  
Sherlock shot him a look, one that screamed 'Really?', but stepped inside the cab anyway, scooting to the far side to make room for Jim.   
  
_I'm sharing a cab with my worst enemy. How quaint._   
  
Jim slid in beside him. "I understand now." He said softly after he had given the address to the cabby.   
  
"Oh do you? How marvelous." It was hard to keep the sarcasm off his tongue, but he wasn't feeling in a forgiving mood. True, he was going to get John back, but Moriarty still put them both through hell more than once.   
  
"I met Moran when I was in Australia about two years ago. I had never understood the feeling of being ready to die for someone until I saw someone point a gun at him. I was obsessed with you, Sherlock, the way you were hooked on cocaine. But you found John to fix you and I found Sebastian."   
  
Sherlock was quiet as he looked Jim over out of the corner of his eye. It was really hard to _not_ find the sincerity of his words. He sighed and leaned his head against the window. "It's nice, isn't it? To have someone who doesn't turn and run at the first opportunity. Someone who actually cares enough to stick around, despite all the crazy nonsense we make them put up with."   
  
Jim chuckled. "I didn't think it was possible. Moran actually enjoys pouring blood on cars, removing hands from bodies to confuse the police. I suspect I put him through more on a daily basis than you put John through.”   
  
Sherlock opened his mouth to say something and then just shut it promptly. He really had no response for that.   
  
Jim grinned at him then faltered. "You've met Moran, Holmes. Does he... Does he feel the same for me as I do for him? I don't want to risk this by taking chances."   
  
Sherlock rolled his eyes and put his hand to his face. "The man just committed suicide for you. Sort of. What do you think?"   
  
Jim huffed. "You of all people should know that it's never obvious to the people on the inside. No matter how clear it is for the onlookers." He shrugged. "How do you wrangle the truth out of John then?"   
  
"John's a terrible actor. I formulated a theory based on the facts and took a risk. My theory was proved correct." Sherlock spoke bluntly, not really caring to go into too much detail about his love life with Jim Moriarty. "I can only pray that is still the case," he mumbled sadly.   
  
"Even if he distrusts you, it won't last forever. He's very stubborn, Sherlock." Jim said as the taxi pulled up at the address. "Here we are. Did you bring a gun?"   
  
Sherlock subtly flashed him John's firearm as he stepped from the cab and in front of an old, abandon clinic. He analyzed the ruins for a moment before turning to give Jim a look. Jim, in turn, made a grand 'after-you' gesture. Sherlock just glared, but took a step towards the building anyway, one hand ready to reach for the gun just in case.   
  
Jim had his own gun in his pocket, though he detested the damn thing. He wished Moran were here to do the shooting for him. What if he got his suit dirty? Or worse; ripped?   
  
Jim shuddered but followed Sherlock inside, squaring his shoulders. He looked at the guard by the door. "Tell one of your monkey friends to get John Watson untied." He barked. "And call an ambulance." The man nodded and picked up his walkie-talkie, jabbering incessantly into it. Jim glanced at Sherlock and headed down the narrower of two passages.   
  
Sherlock kept a quick pace, walking just behind Jim as they made their way down the corridor. He almost ran into the man as he came to a stop in front a pair of double doors that led to a small surgery. "In here?" he asked, though the way he said it was more of a statement. Why else would they be stopped?   
  
Jim nodded. "Just... Wait here." He mumbled and, after typing in the code, stepped behind the doors.   
  
After a few moments, he reappeared. "John says he wants to talk to you." He held the door open and waved the detective through. "I'll leave you two alone. You have-" he glanced at his watch. "-five minutes before the ambulance gets here."   
  
"Police too. I suppose that means you'll be taking off with the rest of your goons," Sherlock stated, looking nervously at the doors in front of him.   
  
"I'll be here." Jim reassured him. "The peelers won't catch me. Never did before. I'll send the monkeys away." He nodded at Sherlock. "Go. He wants to see you."   
  
Sherlock bit his lip and stepped through the door and into the dimly lit room behind it. It took him a moment for his eyes to adjust, but when they did he was able to make out a figure sitting lax in a chair in the middle of the room. He approached slowly at first, his pace gradually quickening as he was fighting the urge to scoop the man up in his arms and hold him tightly. "John?" he called, his voice barely a whisper but filled with a wide range of emotions: worry, fear, concern, relief, joy, and love. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Did you know:** policemen were called 'peelers' or 'bobbies' in Victorian England after Robert Peel, the prime minister who created the English police force. Robert Peel was also the man who sent £100,000's worth of Indian Maize to Ireland during _an Gorta Mór_ (or _The Great Famine_ ) which was given out to the starving people practically free. Peel was awesome. 


	73. "Sherlock Holmes, I love you so damn much."

"Sherlock." John breathed. He was still tied to the torture table, blood covering most of his skin. He almost started crying at the familiar voice. "I can't move, Sherlock. Come here."   
  
Sherlock couldn't control himself anymore and flew forward, standing beside John and delicately placing his hands on John's face, looking him over for all injuries. "John. I'm so sorry," he whispered, blinking away tears from the corners of his eyes. He spotted the various lacerations decorating John's arms and chest and gently ran his thumb over a particularly nasty welt on the side of his head. "It's going to be alright now. There's an ambulance coming. I'm getting you out of here."   
  
John had his eyes closed. As much as he wanted to see Sherlock, he was scared that the image of him would cause him to panic. "I love you." He murmured softly. "Sherlock Holmes, I love you so damn much and no matter what happens to us because what these people did to me, please never forget that."   
  
Sherlock looked up and for the first time realized that John had yet to open his eyes. _He's afraid_ , Sherlock thought, his heart falling a little. He stood up a little and leaned forward to place a gentle, loving kiss on John's mouth. A tear rolled down his cheek and slipped between their lips, the salty taste split between both tongues. He pulled away, but just barely, his soft curls brushing against John's forehead. "I love you, John Watson. I will never stop loving you."   
  
Paramedics burst into the room before John could pull Sherlock into a fuller kiss. He gripped the detective's hand tightly as he was examined briefly and then bundled onto a stretcher.   
  
Sherlock refused to leave John's side and followed him into the ambulance, only letting go of his hand briefly as he clambered inside. He spent the ride to the hospital massaging John's hand as the paramedics looked over the obvious wounds. In the brighter light everything looked even worse. The site of angry welts, bloodied scars, and deep colored bruises made Sherlock shake in fury and guilt. He kissed John's hand and leaned over, murmuring soft words of comfort into his ear. John had yet to open his eyes and Sherlock was finding himself beyond terrified of what could happen when he finally did.   
  
John lay silently in the ambulance, patiently letting himself be prodded and stitched. He couldn't have opened his eyes if he wanted to; after so long in the dark room, the lights of the ambulance were stabbing even through his eyelids. "I want a proper wedding this time, love." He said suddenly.   
  
It took Sherlock a split second to process John's words, but when he did his face broke into a small grin. "Of course," he chuckled. "Anything you want," he murmured, leaning down for a tender kiss.   
  
John squeezed Sherlock's hand. "I'm sorry." He mumbled.   
  
The ambulance pulled into Bart's and stopped. A nurse ran out to meet them as the doors were opened. "Watson-Holmes?" She asked breathless. After confirmation, she continued. "Your room is waiting for you on the third floor." She mumbled the exact number to the paramedics and John, dragging Sherlock along by a death grip on his hand, was carted off into the hospital.   
  
Sherlock wasn't really sure if he could feel his hand by the time they reached their destination. The nursing staff almost had to physically pry them apart before they moved John from the stretcher and into the more comfortable hospital bed, and as soon as that had been done they were holding hands again. Sherlock would have climbed in bed next to him if he hadn't been afraid of hurting him further. The nurses and doctors bustled about for another half hour, cleaning wounds, taking samples, and scribbling a bunch of nonsense on a chart. None of them even tried to get Sherlock to leave and in the back of his mind he knew he probably had his brother to thank for that.   
  
After all the nurses and doctors had gone, John, eyes still closed, squeezed his detective's hand. "I need to sleep, Sherlock. You should go home and rest." He knew there was no way Sherlock would leave him but he hand to try.   
  
"You're an idiot, John, if you honestly thought that would work," he scoffed before smiling gently and placing a kiss to John's knuckles. "Besides, it isn't home until you're there," he whispered.   
  
John smiled softly. "I'm going to open my eyes, Sherlock. Come here." He demanded, tugging on the detective's hand.   
  
Sherlock hesitated, stammering out small protests as John dragged him forward. "John, I'm not sure if that's a good idea."   
  
The sight of the detective could trigger fear or hatred, and Sherlock wasn't sure which was worst. He did know that if John started panicking they would be separated and he was no where near ready to leave John's side.   
  
"I need to see you." John pleaded. "I can handle it. I promise."   
  
"I..." Sherlock found it difficult to argue with the desperation in John's voice and sighed in defeat. "A - Alright..but let me do one thing first." With John's eyes still closed, Sherlock leaned down, pausing at a range where their noses brushed and their lips were only a hair's breath apart. "I love you," poured into the small space in between, dissipating into the air as Sherlock's lips crashed onto John's. He could feel John's hand reaching up to tangle itself in his curls, pressing him closer as their lips moved against each other. The kiss grew softer, sweeter, until finally Sherlock realized he couldn't put it off anymore. He slowly moved back, taking John's hand back in his and squeezing as a shuddering breath left his mouth. "Y-you can look, now," he said, mentally bracing himself for the worst.   
  
John nodded and slowly, oh so slowly, opened his eyes. He looked at Sherlock's curls first, running his hand through them and smiling. _It's going to be ok_ , he thought. His gaze lowered to Sherlock's face and he gasped, thinking for a split second that he'd have to look away. He held Sherlock's azure gaze in his own for as long as he could before his eyes continued lower. The delicate yet cut-throat ark of his cheekbones, the dainty contours of his nose, the plump fullness of his lips. Dark memories threatened to fill his mind's eye but he pushed them away, remembering each kiss, embrace and shared glance instead. It wasn't until the detective softly said "I love you too, John." that John realised he'd been chanting the three words over and over inadvertantly. He met Sherlock's gaze again with a somewhat watery smile. "It's ok." He said, only half lying. _Ok_ was not the word he'd use in a perfect world, _manageable_ was probably more fitting. But he wanted to reassure Sherlock.   
  
Sherlock almost collapsed right there from relief. The damage to John's mind had not been as bad as he had feared. _We can get through this. I won't have to leave him_. He closed his eyes and leaned into the hand that was softly tracing over his cheek and turned his head slightly so he could kiss the palm. "John, I'm so sorry. I should have found you sooner. I shouldn't have been more careful."   
  
John shook his head. "It's ok. It's fine, Sherlock. You did your best. You're going to have to tell me the Jim Moriarty story though." He said with a grin.   
  
Sherlock gaped as he sought around for the proper words. "I - We had a common enemy and made a deal. It was a one time thing."   
  
"He was working with your father the last I heard." John said with a frown. He had closed his eyes again; both the garish lights in the room and Sherlock's face were hurting him.   
  
"For my father," Sherlock corrected, sinking down into the chair next to the bed. "He wasn't exactly a willing employee."   
  
John nodded, not quite understanding. "I do kind of need to sleep." He murmured. "Try and get some rest."   
  
Sherlock nodded in agreement, momentarily forgetting that John couldn't see him and gently took John's hand. "Go ahead and sleep. I'll be right here."   
  
John mumbled his thanks, his brain feeling very heavy all of a sudden. His grip on Sherlock's hand slackened as he lost consciousness. He began snoring softly.   
  
Sherlock gazed gently at the sleeping man. He lightly stroked the back of John's hand with his thumb before leaning back in his chair and kicking up his feet, readying himself for guard duty. 


	74. "I hate being scared of you."

John blinked awake after about two hours. He looked over and Sherlock and gave out a yelp before he could stop himself. He clamped his hand over his mouth and squeezing his eyes shut.   
  
Sherlock had jumped at the sound and turned to see what had happened. It didn't take long to deduce what had startled John. Sherlock's face fell into a sad and pained expression, but he gripped John's hand anyway knowing that he had to be strong. _He loves me. He doesn't mean it. The fear isn't real_ , he thought, brushing a thumb against John's knuckles. "It's alright. You're fine. I - I won't hurt you."   
  
John nodded, eyes closed tighter than ever. "I know. I... Just kiss me." He mumbled, holding out his arms. He knew this was killing Sherlock. Frankly, it was killing him. He loved the man more than anything else in the world and now he couldn’t even look at him.   
  
Sherlock didn't offer any protest, falling into John's arms and kissing him gently, trying to forget John's terrified yell.   
  
John kissed him sweetly. "I love you." He mumbled every so often between kisses. He tasted Sherlock's tongue and then pulled away, bursting into tears.   
  
Sherlock backed away just a little and brought his hands up to cup John's cheeks. "John? What's wrong?" Sherlock ran his analytic gaze over John's frame, making sure that he hadn't caused him any unintentional pain.   
  
John shook his head. "I don't know. I just... don't know. I hate not being able to see your beautiful face. I hate being scared of you. I know you'd never do anything like that to me, it was just so real." He kissed Sherlock's cheek. "I'm sorry."   
  
"It's not your fault," Sherlock replied, giving John a peck on the lips. "I hate it too. I miss looking into your eyes." he whispered, thinking back to their endless blue pools. Remembering the love and adoration that he could see in their depths. He pressed his lips together and lightly took John's hands in his. "John. Do you think, you don't have to, but could you tell me what they did?" The physical torture was obvious enough, but Sherlock had no way of observing the psychological trauma that they must had put John through. He figured that he if he could understand what they did, he could maybe come up with a way to reverse it.   
  
"I..." John tried to think about the last few days but he couldn't. "Maybe... Maybe some other time, Sherlock. I couldn't face it right now." John rested his head on Sherlock's shoulder. "I love you."   
  
"I love you too," he replied, wrapping his arms gently around John's frame. "You know, we can say that now whenever we want. Kiss whenever we want. No more hiding."   
  
John grinned broadly. "I know." He paused. "We shouldn't really be so pleased about your father's death, Sherlock." He said guiltily.   
  
"I have _no_ intention of mourning that man," Sherlock said darkly.   
  
"I don't mean mourning him." John said with a chuckle at Sherlock's tone. "I mean not being glad he died. At least in front of your family, alright?"   
  
Sherlock rolled his eyes and leaned more of his weight on the bed. "I doubt they'll be offended. Mycroft is likely to be just as relieved as I am and mother… Their relationship was more of a business partnership. There will be no love lost."   
  
John nodded, eyes cautiously straying to Sherlock's face. He held his breath, counting how long he could repress the memories before he had to look away.   
  
Twelve seconds. He buried his head in Sherlock's shoulder. "I love you." He mumbled pathetically.   
  
"I know you do," Sherlock whispered, stroking a hand through John's hair. "We'll find a way to fix this. I promise."   
  
John nodded. "Of course we will. And then we'll have a wedding the royal family would be jealous of."   
  
Sherlock grinned and planted a kiss in John's hair. "I'll get Mycroft to foot the bill, then," he teased.   
  
John giggled. "Might be best. I can't afford a wedding on an army pension."   
  
"I don't even want to calculate how many cases we'd have to work. Not everyone pays as well as Wilkes," Sherlock mused. He smiled, thinking of how handsome John would look in his tux standing next to him on the altar, swaying with him on the reception floor, how his lips would move when he said 'I do'.   
  
John pulled Sherlock closer to him. "Fantasise about our wedding all you like, but make sure you write it down so we get everything perfect." He murmured into his detective's ear.   
  
Sherlock blushed, embarrassed by how easily John could read him. _Of course he can tell what I'm thinking. We're practically made for each other_. Suddenly, at that moment, the weight of everything that had happened came crashing down. They had been so close to losing this. Sherlock squeezed his eyes shut to block out the thoughts and tucked his face against John's neck. His arms wrapped around the older man in a possessive embrace, as if he were afraid John would be taken away again at any moment.   
  
John hugged Sherlock back, wincing slightly at the pain but not protesting. "It's alright. It's okay, sweetheart. Sherlock. I'm here." He mumbled softly, running his hand through the raven curls.   
  
"But you almost weren't. I was terrified. I thought he was going to take you away from me forever." His whispered confession weighed down the room and a few tears leaked from the corners of his eyes, rolling off his cheek and onto John's skin.   
  
John smiled fondly. "'Death cannot stop true love,' Sherlock." He quoted. "'All it can do is delay it for a while.'" He knew there was little truth in the words (although he couldn't help remembering Sherlock's own 'death' and his return to John, two years later). He just hoped the sweet, yet meaningless, statement would improve the mood of his lover.   
  
Sherlock sniffed and wiped away a stray tear. "That's an idiotic phrase dependent on the idea that there is an afterlife or reincarnation. Though, if an afterlife did exist, and I'm not saying it does, I wouldn't have kept you waiting there long," he murmured softly. In his mind, he began to wonder if John had ever had similar thoughts, and for that hugged him just a little tighter.   
  
John kissed Sherlock lips softly, not wanting to mention how often he'd sat with his gun in his lap when he thought the man he loved was dead. He wondered what would have happened if he had ended his life. The ending of 'Romeo and Juliet' floated across his mind and he let out a snort of barely concealed laughter.   
  
"What?" Sherlock asked, curious to know what John suddenly found so humorous.   
  
"Nothing at all, my sweet Juliet." John grinned. In his good mood, he found Sherlock's gorgeous face an easier sight to bear, much to his delight.   
  
Sherlock tilted his head and began to examine John's face. "My name is Sherlock...is this some latent psychological response? Amnesia triggered by certain words?"   
  
John laughed outright at that. "Of course you've deleted Shakespeare." He wheezed. "Oh Sherlock, I love you, you ridiculous idiot."   
  
_Ah, Shakespeare. Not a side-effect of the torture then_ , Sherlock thought, letting out a sigh of relief before swooping forward to capture John's lips.   
  
John leaned into Sherlock's kiss with enthusiasm. He was still smiling against the detective's lips.   
  
Sherlock grinned when he finally pulled away a few minutes later, brushing his nose against John's. "You should probably get some rest. I want you out of this hospital ASAP."   
  
John nodded. "Yessir." He said, flirtatiously adding a two-finger salute. He scooted over and patted the bed beside him. "Will my detective be joining me?"   
  
Sherlock made to move toward the open space, an eager smile on his face, but hesitated and cast John a conflicted look. "I don't want to accidentally hurt you," he mumbled.   
  
John shook his head. "I'm a soldier." He protested. "And I'll be a lot more hurt if you refuse me." He added with a playful pout.   
  
"Well, I suppose we can't have that," Sherlock replied, feeling a little more reassured. He crawled into the empty space and laid himself out straight on his side, making sure John had plenty of room to get comfortable.   
  
John snuggled up to him, resting his head on Sherlock's chest. "My idiot detective." He murmured softly.   
  
"Only you could get away with calling me an idiot, my brave captain, my doctor, my John."   
  
"I know." John's voice was thick with sleep now. His eyes fluttered shut and he fell asleep against Sherlock's chest.   
  
Sherlock kissed the top of John's head and wrapped his arms gently around the sleeping man. "I'll keep you safe," he whispered. Sherlock kept his eyes on the doorway until eventually he, too, succumbed to slumber. 


	75. "Play the song called 'Lullaby'."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **WARNING**
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> If you don't like blood and gore, skip the first paragraph.

_There was so much blood. John looked down to see Sherlock, scalpel in hand, prodding at his intestines. The skin from his stomach lay, delicately folded in quarters, on the bedside table. Somewhere near by, someone was screaming; terrible shrieks of pure agony. A voice in the back of John's head told him it was he who was screaming. Sherlock Holmes leaned down to kiss John's organs, before grinning up at John, mouth stained red._  
  
Sherlock awoke to screaming coming from the man in his arms. He sat up quickly and cradled John in his arms and began to shake him. He started to call John's name but stopped, remembering how John reacted the last time he woke up. He thought quickly and adjusted so that he was behind John, with no way of the man immediately seeing his face upon waking up. He began to struggle in Sherlock's grasp, still screaming as if he was being murdered. Sherlock shuddered and leaned forward. "John. You're having a nightmare, wake up!" He called, praying the soldier could hear him. A nurse burst in and he tried to shoo her away, fearing she would cause more harm than good.  
  
John shuddered awake and his screams stopped. His hands instantly felt at his stomach. He noticed the detective was wrapped around him and pulled away. "I don't think we should sleep together just yet, love." John mumbled, voice filled with regret at those words.  
  
Sherlock tried not to flinch at the pain those words caused. He took in a deep breath, hoping it would stop his body from trembling. "I... A-alright. Whatever you need," he murmured. He tried to reassure himself that it would only be for now. Given some time, John would come back to him. Everything would go back to how it should be.  
  
John didn't need to see Sherlock's face to know what was wrong. "I love you, Sherlock. It hurts me as much as it does you and I will never be able to apologise enough. I love you." He settled back down in the bed. "Sherlock?" He murmured after a moment of silence.  
  
"Yes, John?" he asked quietly, doing his best to keep his face out of John's sight.  
  
"My phone wouldn't happen to be here, would it?"  
  
"Uh, yes. Mycroft's men found it when they were cleaning up the scene. They had to copy the data from it since Moriarty was using it to communicate with me." Sherlock stood and walked over to the cabinet where they had stored John's things. He pulled the phone out of a plastic bag and turned to show it to John. "Do you need it?" he asked, wondering if he should put it back or not.  
  
John nodded. "Will you open up music and play the song called ' _Lullaby_ '?"  
  
Sherlock nodded and began working his way through the maze of apps to get to the song. He was curious to why John wanted to hear it, but figured that it involved sentiment and was John's way of making himself feel better so he decided not to question it. "Here it is," he said, pressing play and setting the phone down on the bedside table.  
  
Suddenly, softly, a familiar tune began to play. The phone's speaker was tinny but the melody was unmistakable. It was the lullaby Sherlock had written for John all those years ago, to cure to doctor of his nightmares.  
  
"I recorded it one night because I knew I was spending the next few nights away from you." John murmured over the music. "It kept me alive when you... weren't around." He fell silent for a moment and let the music wash over him. "It's nothing compared to the real thing but it worked when I had nothing better."  
  
Sherlock could feel his heart tightening in his chest, compressed by the guilt of knowing he had put John through so much pain. He had remembered writing the song one night after he had noticed the soothing effect his instrument had. He had seen it as more of a puzzle at the time, than a gesture of goodwill, to create the perfect piece for John to ward off the memories of war and death. After the first night he played it, John had come downstairs the next morning looking so happy and well-rested. Sherlock continued to play the piece almost every night after that, if only just to see John smiling in the morning.  
  
Now, a part of him was touched that the music still brought John so much comfort, but the rest of him felt tormented that he was part of the reason John needed comfort in the first place. He wanted to run over and take John back into his arms and tell him how sorry he was and tell John how much he loved him, but the man lying in the bed could barely even look at Sherlock right now. Sherlock tucked his head and leaned back against the wall as his legs gave out. His eyes burned with restrained tears and he briefly wondered how much of a monster he was after all. _Maybe John is right to be afraid of me. I've caused him so much pain_.  
  
John curled up and opened his eyes, watching Sherlock, trying hard to get the wary, scared look from his gaze. There was nothing he could say to make this better and he knew it. So he stayed silent, hoping he could make it alright with a look.  
  
Sherlock spotted John watching him out of the corner of his eye and quickly sank to the floor, hiding his face in his arms. "You don't have to look at me if it causes you discomfort," he murmured.  
  
John shook his head. "I have to try. Because this is killing you." He stretched his arm out to Sherlock but just couldn't reach. "Let me see your gorgeous face, my darling." He whispered.  
  
Sherlock shook his head and buried his face deeper among his folded limbs. He didn't think he could handle the look of fear in John's eyes right now.  
  
John sighed and closed his eyes, letting the gentle music from his phone lull him back to sleep.  
  
Sherlock stayed still until John's snoring was heard over the gentle violin. Only then did he risk a glance up, relieved to see John sleeping so peacefully. He stood on wobbly legs and walked over, pulling the simple covers up to John's shoulders. He gently caressed John's face with one hand and leaned down to press a chaste kiss to his lips. He walked over and sat on the far side of the room and pulled out his phone to text Lestrade.  
  
[ _I need you to come keep an eye on John for a little while SH_ ]  
  
[ _I'll be there in ten minutes. What's the matter? L_ ]  
  
[ _I just need to run back to Baker street and a few other errands. SH_ ]  
  
It was partly the truth. John did need a new set of clothes to change into once he was released, but Sherlock didn't feel like trying to explain to Lestrade the overwhelming sensation he felt in his chest every time John gave him that pained, fearful look. It was like his heart was tearing in two. As much as he hated to leave John, he needed some time alone to get himself in check.  
  
[ _Alright, I'll look after him. L_ ]  
  
[ _Is everything alright? With him? With the both of you? L_ ]  
  
Sherlock pinched the bridge of his nose. He really didn't feel like discussing any of this right now.  
  
[ _We're fine. No need to worry yourself. SH_ ]  
  
"Hopefully that will satisfy him for a little while," Sherlock muttered to himself. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So we're three quarters of the way through! Wow.
> 
> Thanks for your time, your kudos and your comments. I never know how to reply, but I read and appreciate every one.
> 
> :D


	76. "Something's wrong with Sherlock and John."

Lestrade arrived at the hospital ten minutes later, as promised. He saw Sherlock so far away from John and frowned. "What's the matter?"   
  
Sherlock swallowed thickly and stood to head out the door. "I just need some air," he whispered, staring longingly at the man in the bed.   
  
Lestrade didn't believe for a second that that was the reason but didn't press him. He sat down in the chair Sherlock had just vacated. "Well... Have fun... breathing."   
  
"Breathing is boring," Sherlock muttered, more to himself than Lestrade. He glanced at John one last time before turning on his heels and walking out the door. He opted to walk back to Baker street, as opposed to taking a cab, feeling he needed to use the time to clear his head. His mind palace was becoming too cluttered with painful emotions and it wasn't helping him figure out a way to fix John.   
  
Lestrade relaxed onto the chair, eyes on the sleeping doctor, though he wasn't really looking at him. He wore a small frown. Something was going on between John and Sherlock... He decided to text Mycroft - the man had given him his number years ago, telling him to only ever text him for emergencies concerning Sherlock (Greg had broken that rule a few times when drunk).   
  
[ _Something's wrong with Sherlock and John. L_ ]   
  
Mycroft frowned at the text. He had been worried about the effects of John's psychological torture.   
  
[ _Explain. MH_ ]   
  
[ _They weren't touching when I entered the room. John's not even facing Sherlock. It's not much but I'm worried. L_ ]   
  
[ _John's been through a lot. His mind may not have come away completely unscathed. A part of him likely believes Sherlock is the enemy. MH_ ]   
  
[ _Sherlock? His enemy? What the hell did they do to make him think that? L_ ]   
  
[ _Some sort of combination of hallucinogens and physical torture, I'm sure. It's surprising how easy it is to fool the average mind by altering their perception. MH_ ]   
  
[ _At any rate, it may be that the best solution is to wait and hope that John is able to recover. MH_ ]   
  
[ _Oh. L_ ]   
  
Lestrade frowned at his phone. Who knew when he’d next get to talk to Mycroft Holmes? It was now or never.   
  
[ _What are you doing on Friday night? L_ ]   
  
[ _I fail to see the relevance of my evening plans three days from now. MH_ ]   
  
[ _So you have evening plans? L_ ]   
  
Mycroft rolled his eyes at the forward text. Why would Greg be interested anyway?   
  
[ _Just my usual quiet evening. MH_ ]   
  
[ _I have a spare ticket to see The Importance of Being Ernest. If you're - I dunno - interested? L_ ]   
  
Mycroft blinked absently at the text before slowly typing out a reply.   
  
[ _Are you asking me out on a date, Gregory? MH_ ]   
  
He wasn't sure how he would respond if Greg replied yes. No one had ever been remotely interested in him before, primarily because he had never shown a remote interest in any other person.   
  
The reply was instantaneous.   
  
[ _Depends. Do you want it to be date? L _]__   
  
If Mycroft had been drinking anything he would have spat it out. _Do I want it to be a date? What kind of response is that? Mycroft fiddled with the question in his mind for a while, running through all the possible scenarios. **Do** I want it to be a date? Gregory's assistance with my brother has been amiable, but I don't really do relationships. I'd probably just end up insulting the poor man. He can't be genuinely interested._   
  
[ _I'm not sure if pursuing any sort of personal relationship with me would be advisable. MH_ ]   
  
Greg had been expecting this answer. He had spent the whole time Mycroft was (probably panicking about) replying thinking up the perfect response. So when the finally text did come through, he merely grinned.   
  
[ _Come on Mycroft, where's your sense of adventure? L_ ]   
  
If they were talking in person, Mycroft might have been stammering as he tried to come up with a response. He was going into defense mode now, still in deep denial of Lestrade's interest.   
  
[ _Probably in the same place as your common sense. I'm far from your usual type, Gregory. MH_ ]   
  
[ _I have two ex-wives and an ex-fiancée. Wouldn't you agree that I need a break from my 'usual type'? L_ ]   
  
Mycroft really didn't have a response for that one. He was flat out of arguments as to why it would be a bad idea, too. _Maybe he just has to figure it out for himself,_ Mycroft thought with a sigh before sending out another text.   
  
[ _Very well. What time would you want me to meet you? MH_ ]   
  
[ _You can pick me up at six and we'll have dinner. I have no doubt that you have my address. L_ ]   
  
[ _Indeed I do. 6pm sharp then. I have a place in mind for dinner, so wear something nice. MH_ ]   
  
"What the _hell_ am I doing?" Mycroft muttered to himself before pocketing his phone and turning back to the pile of paperwork on his desk. 


	77. "Guess that's a relative question."

Lestrade was grinning like a fool when John stirred. He waited a while before opening his eyes cautiously.   
  
"Oh. Greg. It's you. What-" He saw the grin. "What's going on?" He said, suddenly concerned.   
  
"Oh nothing. Just got myself a date this Friday evening." Greg chuckled to himself and sat up straighter in his chair. "How are you feeling?"   
  
John shrugged. "Yeah, alright. Good." His head was pounding. His arm was throbbing. The stitches in his chest were itchy and he couldn’t even scratch. Good thing Greg didn't know when he was lying.   
  
"Guess that's a relative question. You looked like you were put through a blender when they found you," Greg teased, trying to lighten the mood. "Definitely didn't lose any of your strength though. Sherlock still has bruises from when you were squeezing the life out of his hand," he said with a chuckle.   
  
_Sherlock_. John's heart sank. "Where is he?" He said, sitting up too quickly and letting out a whine as his various aching parts made themselves known.   
  
"Whoa, John. Doc says you shouldn't be moving," Greg warned, crossing the room to gently press John back down. "Sherlock just went back to Baker Street for a little bit. Said he needed to grab a few things for you." It wasn't the entire truth, but he wasn't aware of the entire reason Sherlock left either, so it was all he had to say. He didn't plan on being the person who caused trouble because of a misunderstanding.   
  
John groaned. "Ask him when he's coming back. I need him." He murmured pathetically as he closed his eyes.   
  
"I, uh, of course." Lestrade pulled out his phone and started typing the text, but stopped before he pressed send. "John, I don't mean to pry or anything, but are you two alright? I heard about everything that happened and, well, Sherlock was in a bit of a state when he left."   
  
"We're fine." John snapped. "Text him."   
  
Lestrade sighed and pressed send. "Sent it."   
  
*******   
  
Sherlock heard a small ping. _Text from Lestrade. Something's happened with John_. He sat up quickly and pulled out his phone.   
  
[ _John's awake. Wants you back at the hospital. Sooner the better. L_ ]   
  
Sherlock sighed and typed out a quick reply before gathering the clothes into a small bag.   
  
[ _Tell him I'll be there shortly. SH_ ]   
  
John relaxed when Greg read him the text. He let his eyes flutter closed. "Don't talk to me until he's here." He said.   
  
"Alright," was all Lestrade said, settling in his chair for the hopefully short wait.   
  
*******   
  
Sherlock took a cab this time and was back at the hospital 10 minutes later. He moved through it slowly, taking the stairs instead of the elevator, anything he could to prolong his return. He found himself standing outside of John's door sooner than expected and took a deep breath before slowly pushing it open.   
  
He didn't say anything, but just walked in and closed the door behind him.   
  
"John," Lestrade whispered, trying to notify him that Sherlock was back in case he hadn't noticed already.   
  
John sat up - slowly this time - and opened his eyes. He grinned broadly when he saw Sherlock. "Bye, Greg." He said, not tearing his eyes from the genius.   
  
When Lestrade was gone, John held up his arms. "Come." He said, feeling more like a small child than an army captain.   
  
Sherlock's heart skipped a beat and he made his way over to John quickly and quietly. He deposited the bag of clothes in the chair and then moved to settle between John's arms, hesitating only for a moment. _He doesn't seem scared right now. Maybe he's recovering quicker than we hoped_.   
  
John pulled Sherlock close to him. "I did some research about this sort of thing, years ago for a paper in Uni. Avoiding me will never help me get better. I know it kills you, but I need you to stay with me as much as you can." John murmured into Sherlock's shoulder before kissing his cheek.   
  
"But it hurts," Sherlock whispered. "It hurts me and it hurts you… I don't want to cause you pain."   
  
"The sooner this is over the better. In the long run it'll be worth it. I love you." John kissed down Sherlock's jaw line and up to his lips.   
  
Sherlock return the kiss, but he was gentle and only returned what John gave.   
  
John pulled away. "Don't leave me." He begged. On second thought, he scooted over in bed and patted the sheets beside him.   
  
Sherlock eyed the spot warily. "John, I don't know. You don't have to force yourself," he whispered, despite the longing he felt to fill that empty space.   
  
"Please. I won't fall asleep and then I can't have a nightmare." John assured him. "Please."   
  
"I - I want to be close to you," Sherlock confessed, falling forward and wrapping himself gingerly around John. "I just don't want to scare you."   
  
John nodded. "It's the only way I'll get better. It'll be worth it."   
  
"I'm sorry I left earlier." Sherlock murmured after a few minutes of silence.   
  
"It's alright." John mumbled. "I'm sorry I demanded that you come back." He snuggled closer. "Sherlock?"   
  
"Yes, John?"   
  
John blushed. "Will you marry me?" He asked, fishing Sherlock's ring from his pocket.   
  
Sherlock stared wide eyed at the ring and then raised his eyes to look at John. "You… when did you -" he cut himself off as he realized John was still waiting for an answer. He shot forward and captured John's lips in a passionate kiss. "You never cease to surprise me, John Watson," he said with a genuine smile.   
  
"I take it that's a yes then?" John smirked. "Wonderful." 


	78. "I've been told I can be quite persnickety."

John was released from the hospital the next day and set up in his old room. An invitation to the funeral of one Sherrinford Holmes came in the mail and Sherlock wanted to discard it, but John made him send back and RSVP with the argument that it was for his mother's sake. Two days later, he was standing in an older part of the cemetery watching an expensive casket get laid to rest in front of a prominent tomb stone. His mother stood on one side, dressed in formal widow attire and looking solemn, but not shedding a single tear. Mycroft stood across from him on the other side of the grave, looking more bored than anything. It was a rather dull event, so Sherlock could hardly blame him. There were a few others standing about, but no one Sherlock really knew. He stood a bit further back, doing the best to keep a look of irritation and/or disgust off his face only because he knew John would elbow him again if he let it show.   
  
John held Sherlock's hand loosely, earning them a few glares that were easily ignored. The duo were far too happy (though they hid it well; there was a time and a place) to let the friends of the late Mr Holmes get them down.   
  
Although John still had nightmares, his waking hours were all but free from the terrors he'd been put through. Sherlock was refusing to sleep with him, instead playing John's lullaby well into the night. They hadn't announced the wedding to anyone yet; they were supposed to be in mourning. John sighed internally thinking about the field day the press would have when they found out the fakeness of their fake wedding had been faked. He squeezed Sherlock's hand tighter in his own.   
  
"Can we leave now?" Sherlock whispered in John's ear as the small crowd began to disperse. His mother was currently speaking with Mycroft and he was hoping to avoid a similar fate.   
  
John glanced around. "Yes. Let's." He murmured and began subtly pulling Sherlock out of the line of sight of his mother and his late father's disapproving colleagues.   
  
Sherlock could barely contain his grin and followed eagerly. He gave John's hand a gentle squeeze expressing his gratitude.   
  
"You're so easily pleased." John teased fondly as they climbed into one of Mycroft's many awaiting cars.   
  
"No I'm not," Sherlock argued back, still smiling from ear to ear. "I've been told I can be quite persnickety."   
  
John grinned, cuddling up to Sherlock. "Not to me, you're not." He mumbled, tugging at the tassles of his fiancé's beloved scarf.   
  
"I suppose your opinion is the only one that really matters," he teased, wrapping one arm gently around John's shoulders.   
  
"Of course it is." He looked up and kissed along Sherlock's jaw line.   
  
Sherlock hummed and tilted his head back to give John better access. Things like this had been the most they had done since John had been brought home, and Sherlock was perfectly fine with that. John smirked and continued peppering kissing on Sherlock's skin. "I love you." He whispered between kisses. "My idiot genius."   
  
Sherlock rolled his eyes and turned to capture John's lips. "I love you too, future Mr. Watson-Holmes."   
  
John kissed back for a moment before he pulled away. "It’s doctor. And I feel bad for leaving your mother." He admitted.   
  
Sherlock shrugged and looked casually out the window. "If she's really determined to speak with me, I have no doubt she'll make an appearance at our flat."   
  
"We should have at least said goodbye." John mumbled.   
  
Sherlock frowned and denied the small twinge of guilt. "Well, it's far too late now. We're almost half way home as it is."   
  
John rolled his eyes. "We'll send her a card."   
  
"We're sending my mother a goodbye card?"   
  
"I admit that plan sounded better in my head."   
  
Sherlock chuckled and kissed the top of his head. "My brilliant blogger," he teased.   
  
John snuggled closer at the sarcastic praise. "My gorgeous genius." He replied.   
  
Sherlock hummed and enjoyed the rest of the ride home contently in silence.   
  
When they got back to the flat, Mrs Hudson bustled out to meet them. "A package came for you two, dears." She cooed, handing it to Sherlock.   
  
"A package? Who would send us a package?" Sherlock asked, looking down to inspect the postage. He didn't recognize the return address, but what peaked his interest was that it was indeed addressed to both him and John.   
  
John glanced at the package and his eyes widened. "We'll open this upstairs." He murmured to Sherlock. "Thanks Mrs Hudson." He called out, all but dragging his fiancé up the stairs. 


	79. "We won't have to pay a penny."

Once in their flat, he took the box from Sherlock and opened it. Inside were dozens of bridal magazines and a neatly folded letter on rose-scented pink paper. John picked it up and scanned it.   
  
He read it aloud.   
  
_"'Dear John and Sherlock,_   
  
_"'Pleased to hear - blah blah blah - wedding - blah blah blah - I'd love to plan it - great publicity - blah blah blah - free of charge. Blah. Blah. Blah._   
  
_"'All the best,_   
  
_"'Connie Gail.'_   
  
"Sherlock." John breathed, looking up at his lover. "Connie Gail is the second most prestigious wedding planner in London. And she's offering us a free wedding."   
  
Sherlock looked at John, having no clue who Connie Gail was or really caring. "I take it this is something you'd like then?"   
  
John grinned. "We'll have ourselves the big wedding we deserve and we won't have to pay a penny, Sherlock. Look happy." He leaned in and kissed Sherlock's ear. "That means we have more money to spend on the honeymoon." He purred.   
  
Sherlock blushed, suddenly thinking this was a brilliant idea. "We should let her know we accept her offer," he said, while at the same time imagining all the exotic places he could take John to.   
  
John nodded. "I wonder how she knew though." He mused. "We haven't told anyone about our engagement yet."   
  
Sherlock immediately went through a list of suspects in his head, narrowing it down to those who knew he and John were actually together romantically and knew them well enough to guess their plans. "Mycroft... Or maybe. no. Why would Moriarty do a thing like that?" he mused, forgetting that he was speaking out loud.   
  
John froze. "Moriarty?" He squeaked.   
  
Sherlock realized his mistake and swore under his breath. "No. Don't worry about it. It was probably Mycroft," he soothed, kissing John on the forehead. He made a note to send Mycroft a text to ask and to make sure he takes credit either way.   
  
John nodded, completely unconvinced. "Right. Well we'll call her tomorrow and start talking things through with her and stuff like that." He grinned, pushing Moriarty from his head. "I... I'm feeling much better, stay with me tonight?"   
  
Sherlock frowned and cast his gaze to the floor on on his right. "I don't think that's a good idea… It might cause a relapse," Sherlock murmured. His system had been working so far; he would play, John would sleep and John wouldn't wake up screaming and cowering away from Sherlock's touch. Sherlock himself had opted to sleep as little as possible, camping out in the living room, ready to wake John should any nightmares take hold anyway.   
  
John pouted. "Please my love."   
  
"What if I cause another nightmare?" he whispered, reaching up to stroked John's cheek.   
  
"And what if you don't and we're just playing it safe for no reason?" John demanded. "I miss you."   
  
Sherlock hung his head a bit. He missed John too, the warmth and comfort he felt when they slept together, but his overwhelming urge to protect John held him back, even if the thing he was protecting John from was himself. He stood frozen where he was, absolutely torn between what he thought was his duty and his desire.   
  
John waited for a moment longer. "Well if that's your final answer." He said dejectedly, turning and walking from the room. He curled up in Sherlock's double bed - on one side, still hopeful the detective would change his mind.   
  
Sherlock's chest tightened as he watched John walk away. _What am I doing?_ He thought bitterly before turning and making his way up the stairs. A few minutes later he reemerged dressed in pajamas and made his way back downstairs. He padded down the hall and stopped a few feet from his bedroom. He sighed and then took the final few steps into the room. He spotted John curled up with his back facing him and silently climbed on the bed next to him, leaving a noticeable space in between. He rolled on his side and curled in on himself a little as his eyes remained focused on the strong back of his fiancé.   
  
John smiled as the bed dipped. "Closer, Sherlock, I'm cold." He mumbled.   
  
"You wouldn't be cold if you put on more than just a t-shirt," Sherlock mumbled. He looked at the expanse between them and tentatively moved forward until his face was buried in the back of John's neck. He wrapped one arm around the shorter blonde and closed his eyes as John's warmth flowed towards him. He had missed this so much.   
  
"I didn't want to put anything else on. I knew you'd come and save me. Like you always do."   
  
It was barely eight o’clock but both men were utterly exhausted from the day (and week) they'd had.   
  
"You're ridiculous," Sherlock muttered, but he smiled and placed an affectionate kiss on the back of John's neck. He then sighed and let his eyes fall shut, feeling so much more relaxed than he had at any point in the past week.   
  
"Says the one." John joked, turning around to bury his head in Sherlock's chest. He inhaled deeply treasuring the scent that was nearly gone from the bedsheets.   
  
Sherlock held John to him, tracing over what skin he could reach with his fingers and nuzzling his nose in John's hair.   
  
John shuddered at Sherlock's touch. "I've missed you so much, love." He admitted, closing his eyes and nuzzling impossibly closer to his detective.   
  
"I've missed you too," Sherlock whispered. It had hurt, to force himself to be apart from John during the cold nights and now he was thinking about how much of an idiot he had been to do so. He squeezed John a bit tighter, feeling the need to ensure that they wouldn't be separated anytime soon.   
  
John chuckled. "I know." His eyes were drooping. "Good night." He murmured.   
  
"Good night," Sherlock replied, kissing the top of John's head. He waited until John had gone limp in his arms before allowing himself the same pleasure. He drifted away slowly, his last thoughts praying that his wasn't a mistake.   
  
John had had a nightmare every night since he'd been separated from Sherlock. The cold around him had reminded him of his basement prison and it had been easier for his mind to recreate the awful scenes once his eyes were closed. With Sherlock wrapped around him, he was untouchable. Nightmares began but Dream-Sherlock swooped in to save him before anyone could hurt him. And so, for the first time in a week, John Watson smiled in his sleep. 


	80. "Never leave me."

Sherlock woke up early the next morning, momentarily confused by his surroundings. _I'm in my room. I went to bed with John, right?_ He felt oddly cold, though, for someone who was suppose to have a warm body next to them and he opened his eyes to realize John wasn't there. He shot up in a blind panic and looked around, seeing no sign of his beloved army doctor. He was about to scramble towards the door when he heard clutter in the kitchen, and then a pair of footsteps making their way down the hall towards the bedroom.   
  
John padded into the room, two mugs of tea in his hands. "Good morning." He cooed. He felt well-rested and ready to take on the world. He slipped back into bed and handed Sherlock his sweetened tea.   
  
Sherlock sighed in relief and took the mug before leaning back against the headboard, closing his eyes as he tried to will his heart rate back to normal. _Calm down. You were just being paranoid._   
  
"Is everything alright?" He asked softly, rubbing Sherlock's thigh comfortingly.   
  
Sherlock blinked his weary eyes open and met John's gaze. "I… you weren't here when I woke up," he whispered, feeling a bit like a child.   
  
John nodded. "I'm sorry. You just looked so peaceful, I didn't want to wake you. I thought you'd still be asleep when I got back."   
  
"It's fine. I shouldn't have panicked," Sherlock replied, taking a sip of the tea. The sweet beverage did it's job and he soon felt calm and relaxed. "Slept well then?" he asked, looking over John's face. He didn't see anything that indicated stress or worry and that made Sherlock smile a little. John looked better than he had in days.   
  
"Excellently." John curled up against Sherlock. "Never leave me." He pleaded, reaching up to touch the ring on Sherlock's finger.   
  
"As if I could," Sherlock replied, turning the hand over so that he could take John's in his.   
  
John chuckled and closed his eyes before being jerked back to reality by a ringing doorbell. He groaned. "Are you expecting anyone?" He said, pulling himself out of bed and pulling on Sherlock's favourite dressing gown.   
  
"No." Sherlock grumbled. He took another sip of his tea and set it aside before he also stood up. "Rang twice, suggests urgency. Lestrade always knocks, so it can't be him. That leaves... Client," he said with a grin, making his way swiftly down the hall.   
  
John ran out and dragged Sherlock back inside. "You're shirtless, you moron." He hissed, shoving a dressing gown at him. "I don't want some client gawking at you. You're mine."   
  
Sherlock blinked and looked down at the material in his arms. There was a definite thrill he felt at John's possessive behavior. He looked up with a smirk and leaned forward to kiss John on the cheek. "Yes, captain," he purred. "Why don't you see them in and I'll change into something more professional."   
  
John blushed, capturing Sherlock's lips with his own for a moment. "Of course." He left the room.   
  
He opened the front door to find a young man in his twenties on the doorstep. He looked unbelievably nervous, so John smiled encouragingly. "Can I help you?"   
  
"I, um, Sherlock Holmes? He lives here right?"   
  
"Yes, he does. You have a case, I suppose." At the man's nod, John gestured inside. "Straight up the stairs, take a seat in the sitting room." He said, following him up. "Tea?"   
  
"Y-y-yes, please. Th-thank you," the ginger haired man stammered. He shuffled into the living room and looked around at the organised chaos before deciding to settle down on the couch.   
  
Sherlock threw on a pair of shoes and finally opened the door. He stopped in the kitchen first, depositing his empty tea cup by the sink before stepping behind John and pressing a kiss to his cheek. He then continued walking, eager to see what sort of mystery their client would provide.   
  
John bustled about in the kitchen, preparing a third cup of tea for the stranger in their sitting room. He re-entered the room just as the man began outlining the case.   
  
"A few months ago, I was hired to be a temp for this company. They said they were new and upcoming, but I had been recommended. I thought it was a little odd. I mean, who recommends a temp? But I wasn't going to turn down a job. It was simple work, typing up notes, making copies. But I had my own office, for once, which was nice." He stopped talking when John came by with his tea. "Thank you," he said, before taking a sip.   
  
Sherlock sighed and made a motion for him to start getting to the point.   
  
"Right, sorry Mr. Holmes. Anyway, I went into work two days ago, as usual, but when I walked in the office was completely abandoned. Everything was just gone. I tried calling Mr. Clemson, my boss, but the number no longer existed. It was the strangest thing."   
  
John, sitting down in his chair, frowned and looked up at the young man to heck had heard right. He glanced between Sherlock and the boy. "What?" He couldn't help but ask.   
  
"He was hired to work for a company that never existed. Do keep up, John," Sherlock replied absently, leaning forward with intrigue. "Now tell me, how many other people were working for this 'company'? Did you socialize with any of the other workers?"   
  
Mr. Jones shook his head. "Mr. Clemson kept me swamped with work. I didn't stray out of my office. I guess, now that I think about it, I really only saw him. But there would be other people, working in the cubicles. It looked like a proper office, I swear."   
  
"Interesting. There's something else to the story though. What haven't you told me yet?"   
  
Sherlock asked, noticing how nervous and worried the man still seemed.   
  
John rolled his eyes at Sherlock. "Take your time, if it's difficult for you to tell us." He supplied gently.   
  
Jones smiled gratefully at John. "My flatmate hasn't been home since I went to work and found the place... gone." He said after a long silence. "We've lived together since college and he's never left the flat for five minutes without telling me where he's going."   
  
Sherlock leaned back and clasped his hands in front of his face. "Your company and your flatmate vanish on the same day. Very peculiar. John, this rates a six. At least. Get dressed. As for you, Mr. Jones, would you be kind enough to show us where you were working? And then after that, we'd love to see your flat." Jones nodded eagerly as John stood up and disappeared into the bedroom.   
  
"I thought you two were just pretending to be a couple." Jones said when he and Sherlock were alone. "Very observant, Mr. Jones. But no, we were pretending to be pretending to be a couple," Sherlock explained, head turned to look to the bedroom that John had disappeared into.   
  
Jones frowned, trying to understand the levels of redirection that Sherlock had used. He'd had a long few days. Just when he thought he understood, Sherlock rose. John, it would seem, had reappeared and the couple were ready to go. Jones stood. "Ah... this way." He mumbled, leaving the flat.   
  
Sherlock followed with John close on his heels. Outside, Sherlock threw an arm in the air and summoned a cab. He opened the door and gestured the other two men inside. He slid in next to John while Mr. Jones gave the address to the cabby. 


	81. "I think we're making our client uncomfortable."

The cab ride was slow and uncomfortable but after about ten minutes, they arrived. Jones paid for the cab and the detective duo waited outside the car for him. When he emerged, he looked up at the building for a long time.   
  
"Well?" John said, feel guilty to interrupt the man's thoughts. He could feel his fiancé getting restless beside him.   
  
"Ah. Sorry. This way." Jones led them through a set of double doors and down a long hall. He opened up a door on the right and led them into an empty office suite. "Three days ago, there were cubicles, plants, pictures. The works, you know? And now." He spread his arms wide and gestured to the empty space before him.   
  
Sherlock stepped past him and looked around. The walls were empty and the floors were barren. He suddenly went to the nearest wall and crouched down, examining the seam between the wall and the floor. Satisfied with what he found and jumped up and ran to the nearest office door. He bent over at the waist and inspected the door knob, looking for any signs of dust or fingerprints.   
  
Jones looked at John who shook his head. "Leave him to do his stuff. He'll explain when he's finished." John explained, standing in the middle of the room, watching his detective fondly.   
  
Sherlock put on a glove and opened the office door, noting that it was just as empty and barren as the rest of space. He walked out and gazed about the space. "I can tell you that three days ago this office was cleared out and cleaned. Thoroughly cleaned, I might add. The corners have only accumulated two or three days worth of dust."   
  
John nodded. "Well that fits with Jones' story." They seemed to have forgotten he was there, their eyes not leaving the other's. "What it doesn't tell us is why. Or who."   
  
"No b ut I have an idea. Three actually. Mr. Jones, if you would be kind enough to take us to your home now."   
  
Jones had tuned out of the conversation, looking at anything but the pair in front of him, a blush rising on his cheeks. When Sherlock addressed him, he jolted. "Yes, of course."   
  
They headed back downstairs, John reaching out for Sherlock's hand.  
  
Sherlock took it willingly, smiling as he leaned over to John's ear. "I think we're making our client uncomfortable," he murmured, nodding towards Jones who was resolutely focused on looking anywhere but behind him.   
  
John chuckled. "I can't help it." He whispered in reply. "I spent far too many crime scenes hiding my infatuation. Not anymore." They exited the building and John blinked in the sudden brightness.   
  
Sherlock grinned and squeezed John's hand. "Imagine the look on Donovan's face when she finds out." Jones had hailed a cab and had climbed inside, patiently waiting for the other two to follow.   
  
"I don't have to. She's already found out once, remember?" John smirked. He pressed his lips to Sherlock's briefly, loving the feeling of finally being able to do so in the open, and dragged him into the cab. He looked over at Jones. "Sorry. We'll be more professional from now on." He said, wondering if he'd be able to keep that promise.   
  
"I- I It's fine. Thank you" he replied, trying to be polite. The cab took off and the three sat in awkward silence for the duration of the ride. The commute was half an hour, but they eventually pulled up in front of a small flat. Sherlock got out first and stretched before looking around. It was primarily a residential area, but there were some small businesses across the street. A bakery, a cafe, a jewelers, and then a bank. "I live on the ground floor, just here," Jones said, walking over to the front door.   
  
John hummed to himself as he followed Jones to the door. "Sherlock?" He called, glancing over at the detective who was studying the surroundings. "You coming?"   
  
"Hmm? Oh, yes. Of course." Sherlock tore himself away and followed John inside to the small flat.   
  
John and Jones waited at the door as Sherlock repeated his actions in the smaller space.   
  
Jones opened his mouth every so often as if to speak, but nerves kept getting the better of him and he closed it again.   
  
The flat wasn't anything spectacular on it's own. A bachelor's home for sure. "Was your flatmate acting odd at all before he disappeared?" Sherlock asked as he peeked into one of the bedrooms.   
  
"No." Jones said. "Perfectly ordinary. Although. There was this phone call..."   
  
"What about this phone call?" Sherlock asked. He turned away from his search and focused his gaze on Jones.   
  
"I don't know. He got a call about six pm the night before he went missing. He left the room to take it, I have no idea who it was or what was said. He was white as a sheet when he came back though."   
  
Sherlock pondered this over, running everything through his head. "Your roommate was unemployed, has been for months, correct? Has he ever received any other odd phone calls?"   
  
"Yes he was unemployed. He received calls quite often but pretty much always took them while I was in the room."   
  
"That won't account for ones he took while you were at work. Someone's been working hard to keep you out of this apartment for the past three months, Mr. Jones," Sherlock murmured, wandering over into the kitchen and looking out the window.   
  
"Pardon?" Jones asked, flabbergasted. "Why would he want me to leave? I'm his best friend. What would he have to do that was so important I couldn't know about it?"   
  
John froze, his gaze meeting Sherlock's fleetingly. That train of thought sounded very familiar to John.   
  
"No doubt something illegal. Based on what I've seen, I wouldn't think your 'friend' was normally one to partake in criminal activities, but somehow he's found himself involved with some bad people. They needed you out of the apartment for a certain amount of time each day, and what better way to guarantee that then to employ you." Sherlock's eyes focused on the two buildings in direct sight of the window. The bank and the jewelers.   
  
Jones snorted. "They sure have a lot of money floating around if that's how they plan to get rid of me."   
  
"Consider it more of an investment. I have one idea, and, if I'm correct, they are going to get back what they lost to you. A whole lot more. John! Contact my brother. I need CCTV starting from four days ago, of this house and the surrounding area. Stay here while you work on that," he ordered, turning to head towards the door.   
  
"What do you want me to do with it?" He asked, taking out his phone and texting Mycroft for the information.   
  
"Because he likes you better," Sherlock replied. "I'll be back in a few."   
  
"That’s- That's not what I asked." John said to the suddenly empty doorframe. He glanced at Jones. "Can I sit down?"   
  
"Y-yeah, of course," Jones said. He led John over to the sitting area and looked out his front window in time to see Sherlock jogging across the street.   
  
John got a reply from Mycroft. "I have to go now." He said to Jones. "Will you be alright? Sherlock will text you if he needs anything." And with that, John left.   
  
He bundled into a taxi and headed to Mycroft's. The git had been too lazy to send him to footage so he had to go the whole way across London to watch it. It better be useful, this fare would cost a small fortune. 


	82. "I'm desperate, John."

Sherlock was shaking hands with the bank manager while simultaneously surveying the security of the building. It was an old bank, built in the late eighteenth century, but there had been some modern adaptations to their security. Rotating cameras, motion sensors outside of the vault, biometric locks, et cetera. The only part of the bank that hadn't been changed was the infrastructure. That had been preserved to replicate the banks early days.   
  
Sherlock hurried back across the street, entering the flat without bothering to knock. He walked in and found Jones sitting alone at the table. "Where's John?"   
  
Jones shrugged. "He didn't tell me where he was going, he just left."   
  
Sherlock frowned and whipped out his phone. He could only assume it had something to do with Mycroft..or at least that's what he hoped.   
  
[ _Why did you leave? SH_ ]   
  
[ _You're back quick. Mycroft wanted me to watch the footage with him. Want to join me? I'll get the cabbie to stop, I'm only around the corner. JW_ ]   
  
It felt like a trap. He couldn't think of any reason Mycroft couldn't just send them the footage, so he was probably trying to lure Sherlock into a place where they would be forced to talk. _No, thank you,_ Sherlock thought.   
  
[ _No. There are a few other things I would like to look into around here. Let me know what you find. Ask him for the blueprints of the bank while you are at it. SH_ ]   
  
[ _Will do. Meet you back at 221B in an hour? JW_ ]   
  
[ _Yes. See you then. SH_ ]   
  
"Well, Mr. Jones. I believe I am close to solving your case, but I must ask that you speak nothing of this to your flatmate. Do you understand?"   
  
"My flatmate? You think Barry's coming back?" Jones asked, eyes wide.   
  
"Probably not, but if he tries to contact you in anyway it'd be best you don't mention me," Sherlock replied. "That being said, if you do hear from him I'd appreciate it if you'd let me know."   
  
Jones nodded. "Of course I will. I have phone call recording devices, so I can replay everything for you. If you like."   
  
"Excellent. Now I'm going to inquiry the shop keepers, then I'll be returning to Baker Street. We'll probably be back later tonight or tomorrow, depending on what I find."   
  
Jones thanked him and stood up to watch him leave.   
  
*******   
  
John arrived at Mycroft's and went into his office. "Let's watch this footage then." He said with a grin before noticing Mycroft. "Jesus, what's wrong?"   
  
The British Government was sweating and knocking back multiple headache tablets. "How on Earth does one date, John? I simply cannot stand this."   
  
John blinked. "You? A date? With whom?"   
  
Mycroft leaned forward and held his head in his hands. "Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade," he mumbled. He was completely mortified that he had to resort to consulting John Watson for dating advice. "Uughhh," he groaned, dropping his head to his desk.   
  
John snorted with laughter. "Is that why you couldn't just send me the tapes?" He teased.   
  
Mycroft blushed a little and then sat up, trying to retain the last of his dignity. "I'm desperate, John. Are you going to help me or not?" So much for dignity, he thought. "I'm suppose to meet him for dinner tonight, and then a play, but I have no idea what people do or say during such social engagements."   
  
"Videos first. Or else Sherlock will kill me. Then we'll discuss your love life." John promised.   
  
Mycroft sighed and reached over to turn on a monitor. "Very well. I have it all here. The apartment, the bank, and the shops across the street."   
  
John nodded. "I don't know what we're looking for." He admitted, turning his attention to the screen.   
  
"I'm surprised Sherlock didn't come himself. I guess he figured we would know it when we saw it." Mycroft had actually counted on Sherlock not showing up. He would be humiliated if his little brother had seen him in such a state.   
  
"You're not surprised." John scoffed. "You knew it would be me. Now shush."   
  
Mycroft rolled his eyes and continued watching the footage. He saw Mr. Jones, the client leaving for work and figured it would likely be after this point that things got interesting.   
  
John was almost bored to tears watching the screens. He had never wanted murder more; most murders were simple, there was none of this crap. Mycroft gasped beside him and John was suddenly alert.   
  
*******   
  
Sherlock had finished interviewing the owner of the bakery and walked outside with a smile on his face. He was just finding more and more evidence to support his number one theory. He would just wait to hear back from John to see if he found anything on the tapes, but he was already formulating a plan to catch their crooks.   
  
*******   
  
"Oh look. He's ordered pizza!" Mycroft pointed out, chuckling at John's reaction. He had always hated reviewing surveillance tapes, but he had learned how to endure the hours of boredom. Who knew that it was even more entertaining to have someone suffering with him?   
  
John growled at Mycroft, settling back into his 'trying not to fall asleep' position. "I don't give a damn what he eats." John hissed. Suddenly, he straightened up. "That's an awful lot of cash to pay for pizza."   
  
"Indeed it is. It's also quite a lot of pizza for one man. Did you see any of these boxes when you were at the flat?" Mycroft asked, pausing the tape and trying to zoom in on the delivery boy.   
  
"Not one." John said. "But we were only in the hall and the sitting room." He took out his phone to text Sherlock.   
  
[ _Pizza boxes. JW_ ]   
  
*******   
  
Sherlock quirked an eyebrow at the text, but immediately crossed the street and went around back to the recyclings. He looked to see if the cost was clear before he started digging through the bins. A few minutes later he pulled out a couple of pizza boxes, but the holes were cut out of the bottom and upon further examination it looked as though they had been glued together.   
  
[ _Something was smuggled in. Can't tell what. SH_ ]   
  
[ _Keep looking for something. Check his bedroom. JW_ ]   
  
Sherlock went back around front and knocked on the door this time, waiting for Jones to answer.   
  
Jones opened the door. "Oh, Mr Holmes. Come in. Is something the matter?" He gestured Sherlock inside with a warm smile.   
  
"I need to look through your flatmate's room," the detective explained, brushing by and making his way back towards the bedroom. His initial glance had been cursory, but now he needed to search through everything.   
  
"I... Alright." Jones said. "Can I make you a cup of tea or something?" He asked.   
  
"If you want," Sherlock replied absently as he began going through the drawers. "No sock index. How chaotic," he muttered.   
  
Jones took this as a no and sat down on the couch, watching Sherlock through the open door.   
  
Sherlock found nothing of interest in the sock drawer and moved on. The man was single, a former accountant, believed in God but not really the church-going sort. Sherlock was looking through the desks when he found a pen. "You never mentioned that your flatmate gambled," Sherlock called out through the door. "I imagine that's probably how he fell into trouble."   
  
Jones frowned. "Gambled? No, no. Not Barry. He was an excellent poker player, but we only ever played for fun."   
  
"Hmm. Well I believe he tried to up the stakes and got in a little over his head. He has a few knick-knacks here from a local casino. He might have tried some underground games as well, if the dirt on his shoes is anything to go on. My theory is he built up a heavy debt and has been called upon to help pay it back."   
  
"If all they wanted was his money, why would they spend so much to get me out of the way?" Jones protested weakly.   
  
"Like I said, it's an investment. Barry must of struck a deal with them to keep you alive, otherwise you'd probably have vanished months ago." Sherlock pulled out his phone and sent Lestrade a text.   
  
[ _Stake out tomorrow night. SH_ ]   
  
"Mr. Jones, continue to act as you have been for the past few days. By Sunday morning this will all be over with."   
  
Jones nodded hesitantly. "I can do that. Do you think they're watching me?"   
  
"Not you directly. They couldn’t care less about you, but they're watching the area. At any rate, it is important that you follow my instructions. Don't do anything reckless between today and tomorrow." Sherlock brushed off his jacket and began walking out the door. He paused to shake Jones' hand. "I do wish you a good afternoon, Mr. Jones."   
  
"I... Thank you, Mr Holmes. The same to you." Jones said, opening the front door and waving the detective out.   
  
Sherlock left and hailed a cab back to Baker Street. The ride was long and he was hoping by the time he got home, John would already be there. He texted Mycroft.   
  
[ _Please don't hold my fiancéé hostage for too much longer. SH_ ]   
  
[ _In addition, if he asks anything about a wedding planner, you were behind it SH_ ]   
  
[ _As you wish, brother mine. He'll be home for dinner. MH_ ]   
  
*******   
  
After watching the rest of the footage, and finding nothing else of consequence, John sat back in his chair. "Now. What about this date?" He smirked.   
  
Mycroft scowled and sat back in his own chair with a resolute sigh. "He invited me to come see a play with him. I informed him that a relationship of any sort with me wouldn't be the best idea, but he was… persuasive."   
  
John chuckled. "That's Greg. What are you afraid of?" He added softly.   
  
Mycroft turned and looked back at the footage while he collected his thoughts. "I'm afraid he'll find me as cold and heartless as the rest of the world sees me."   
  
"He wouldn't have asked you out if he thought you were heartless." John reminded him. "Just be yourself. He clearly likes it."   
  
"That makes me wonder if somethings wrong with him." Mycroft mused. "John, I've never been on a date. Are there any... traditions I should be aware of? Am I suppose to bring him a gift? What about - what about kissing? Is that required?"   
  
"A gift isn't necessary. Although, if you're picking him up, maybe bring flowers. And you should kiss him on the doorstep as you drop him home. Not required but... nice. Do you not like kissing?"   
  
"It's not that I don't like it. To be honest, I wouldn't know if I liked it or not. I've never actually kissed anyone." He had never let anyone get close enough to even think about kissing, this was all so new to him.   
  
John nodded, unsurprised. "Just go with it. If it happens, it happens. I'm sorry I can't help you anymore." He stood up, patted Mycroft on the shoulder. "I miss my fiancé." John grinned. "Call me tonight and tell me how it goes."   
  
"I understand. Thank you for your help, John." Just as John turned to leave Mycroft shot out a hand and stopped him. "Just one more thing, John. Don't tell Sherlock." His voice was composed, but his eyes were pleading. He didn't need his brother pestering him and if he found out right now, he wouldn't let it go for weeks.   
  
John nodded. "He might deduce it from me, but I'll try keep it hidden." He left the room and got into the awaiting black car. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry if I miss days over the next while. I'm back at school and everything is manic. I promise I'll post as often as I can if I can't do so every day.


	83. "Leave your damn science and fuck me."

Fifteen minutes later, John waltzed into 221b. "Sherlock." He trilled, beaming.   
  
Sherlock grinned at the sound of his name and emerged from the kitchen. He swept across the room in seconds and pulled John in for a welcome-home kiss.   
  
John wrapped his arms around Sherlock's neck and pressed lips back to his fiancé's. "God, I missed you." He murmured, cupping his face. "My beautiful beautiful detective."   
  
Sherlock flushed a little, but managed to keep his composure. "You're being redundant, John," he commented, softly rubbing their noses together. "But I missed you too," he added in a whisper. "Is that silly considering we were only apart for a few hours?"   
  
"Ridiculously so." John giggled. "But I feel like being silly sometimes." He stole another kiss. "I love you."   
  
"Mmm… Love you too. Now, we need to plan for tomorrow!" He exclaimed suddenly, pulling out of John's arms and wandering back into the kitchen.   
  
John whined, slinking into the kitchen after Sherlock. The detective sat himself down at the table. John came up behind and wrapped his arms around his neck, kissing the pale skin below his ear. "Case, shmase." He mumbled. "I want you."   
  
Sherlock couldn't restrain from making a quiet whine as he felt a spark pulse in his groin. "But, I'm planning a stake out," he tried to explain, but any conviction he meant to throw into the argument fell away as John's hand dipped down the front of his shirt.   
  
John tugged at the buttons of Sherlock's shirt and they came undone at his fingertips. "I want you -" He repeated. "- to _take_ me." He kissed lower on Sherlock's neck.   
  
Sherlock rolled his neck to give John more access and raised a hand to place it on the back of John's head, encouraging him to continue his current task. "I A- Are you sure?" he asked. They hadn't tried reversing yet and while he was curious enough to try, he didn't want to make John uncomfortable.   
  
"Yes." John growled against the skin. "Leave your damn science and fuck me." He slipped the shirt from Sherlock's shoulders.   
  
Every ounce of blood in Sherlock's body shot to his groin and he stood up quickly, knocking over his chair in the process. It was left forgotten on the floor as Sherlock crashed their lips together and guided John back towards the bedroom.   
  
John grinned triumphantly against Sherlock's lips. They reached the bedroom and John leant backwards, pulling the detective down on top of himself.   
  
Sherlock landed in an awkward sprawl on top of John, but he didn't have too much time to consider re-adjusting before John was attacking his mouth again. The softness of John's shirt brushed against Sherlock's bare chest and he recognized that that was a problem. "Off," he growled, pulling up on the hem in an attempt to pull the shirt off of John's frame. He was ready to tear it if he had to.   
  
John giggled, sitting up and raising his hands above his head. "Do something about it then." He said, kissing the lips of his detective briefly and roughly.   
  
Sherlock bit down gently on John's bottom lip before pulling away. He grabbed the bottom of the obtrusive material and pulled it up and over John's head and then cast it aside.   
  
Before John could lower his arms, Sherlock grabbed them and pushed backwards so that he was pinning John's hands to the bed. "I've caught a fine specimen," he murmured, leaning down and kissing John firmly.   
  
John grinned and wrenched himself free, hands slipping down to Sherlock's fly and unzipping it. "Why thank you, Holmes." He drawled.   
  
Sherlock ground down as John's fingers brushed over the bulge in his pants. He rolled his hips again, pressing them against John's groin, as he pressed his lips to the crook of John's neck. He lightly pinched the skin with his teeth before he began to suck, determined to leave some sort of mark to let the world know that John was his.   
  
John bit back a moan, slipping his hand under the fabric to stroke Sherlock's length.   
  
"J-John." Sherlock groaned, before biting down gently. He trailed his lips down lower, moving his groin out of John's reach as he adjusted to wrap his lips around one dusky nipple. Simultaneously, he slid one hand down John's stomach and fiddled with his fly.   
  
The good doctor let out a shaky breath. "Sherlock." He gasped, burying his hands in his lover's hair.   
  
Sherlock smirked and pinched the nipple lightly between his lips. His hand slipped down the front of John's pants and lightly brushed over his hard member.   
  
John whimpered at the teasing touch. "P- please, Sherlock." He tugged at the locks between his fingers before one hand slid down Sherlock's body to pull the detective’s trousers off (though John used a force that could've ripped them). His eyes fluttered closed and his back arched into the detective's touch.   
  
Sherlock kissed the centre of John's chest before moving away. He stood up, just beside the edge of the bed and stepped out of his trousers and then looked to John as he began to peel down his pants.   
  
John tilted his hips to allow Sherlock to let him remove them more easily. "I love you." He said, his gaze fixed on his lover.   
  
"I know," Sherlock murmured as he crawled back onto the bed, stopping with his face just above the head of John's cock. "I love you too," he said, planting a soft kiss on the sensitive tip before taking John's hard member into his mouth.   
  
John shuddered violently. "Jesus." He ran his hands through Sherlock's hair, trying not to thrust up into his mouth.   
  
Sherlock pressed John's hip down with one hand as he continued working him. He swirled his tongue around the staff and swiped it over John's slit and then pressed down further. He hollowed his cheeks and sucked as he moved up and down, massaging the heavy member with his tongue. He looked up under his lashes at John and moaned as he realized John was staring straight back at him.   
  
John couldn't tear his gaze from Sherlock's beautiful head. "Sherlock." He groaned. "Sherlock, stop. I don't want to finish too soon." He sounded ridiculously weak. Sherlock pulled away and John instantly regretted his words.   
  
Sherlock grinned and moved up to kiss John, making sure to press their groins together. "Tell me what you want, Captain," he purred, leaning down to nip at John's earlobe.   
  
"I want you to fuck me." John growled, gripping Sherlock's hips tightly and pulling him down until their bodies were flush. "Fuck me. Hard and now."   
  
Sherlock shuddered and his member throbbed with arousal. "I..I need to prepare you first," he stammered, reaching past John towards the night stand to grab the lube.   
  
"Then get to it, Holmes." John demanded, tugging Sherlock's lips back to his. He kissed him deeply, moaning into mouth as he felt Sherlock's finger massaging the skin around his hole.   
  
Sherlock felt a little nervous. He had never done this to anyone and knew just how much it could hurt if he didn't open John up enough first. He spread John's legs a little wider using his elbow and then slowly pushed the first finger in. He paused once he had reached the first knuckle and tried to gauge how John was handling it so far. "Alright?" he murmured against John's skin, pressing tender kisses as he waited for an answer.   
  
"Wait." John muttered, trying not to hiss in pain. He closed his eyes and focused on the kisses. After a moment, when he was perfectly adjusted and felt - almost - comfortable, he gave Sherlock a single nod to continue.   
  
"Just relax," Sherlock whispered, slowly pressing his finger in further. He stopped again when he couldn't press in any further and held it there for a moment. The warm, velvety heat felt amazing and he could only imagine how it would feel wrapped around his sensitive cock. He captured John's lips for a brief moment before he started carefully moving his finger in and out.   
  
"How can you do this?" John's whole body burned and burned and he almost bit Sherlock's lips when the man kissed him. He tried to relax, focusing on the kisses and the hand resting on his thigh until the pain melted to pleasure. His eyes fluttered closed as Sherlock's finger moved inside him and very soon he found himself wanting more.   
  
"I can stop if you want me too," Sherlock whispered, nuzzling against John's neck. "I understand it can be… uncomfortable."   
  
John shook his head. "I can do this. I want to do this. M- more, Sherlock." The last words came out as a barely concealed moan.   
  
Sherlock smiled softly and kissed John's neck as he pumped his finger out a few more times, wiggling it about when he was deep inside to help loosen the muscles. "I'm going to add a second," he warned, pulling out the first and the slowly pressing two digits against John's entrance.   
  
"Just do it, dammit." John whined impatiently, wriggling downwards towards Sherlock's fingers.   
  
Sherlock chuckled and pushed them in, still moving slowly. He pumped them in and out, twisting them around once he felt John was adjusted and then lightly scissoring them to stretch John open.   
  
John groaned. "Oh Sherlock." There was only a slight ache left now, most of the pain having given way to pleasure. "Just take me." He said after he felt thoroughly opened.   
  
Sherlock kissed John's cheek and withdrew his fingers. He reached over for the lube and applied a generous amount to his pulsing cock. He moved to kneel between John's legs and positioned himself at his entrance. His stomach was doing flips and he looked down at John, giving him another chance to back out or buying himself more time. "This will feel… different," he said, thinking back to his first time.   
  
John nodded. "I figured." He said, voice barely louder than a whisper. "I trust you. I love you."   
  
And suddenly, slowly, he was fuller than he'd ever felt before. He let out a sharp whine, digging his blunt nails into Sherlock's back. The blossoming pain was unimaginable, unbearable, magical.   
  
Sherlock frowned and paused, his member halfway buried. It felt so good though, better than he could ever imagine. John's tight heat gripped his member and enticed him to push in further, but John held a look of pain on his face that stilled his hips. He peppered kisses over John's face and reached one hand down to gently stroke over John's cock. "Relax, love," he murmured. "You feel amazing."   
  
John chuckled; it was a forced, pained sound. "Just... Wait a minute. Please." He begged, tears forming in his eyes. He tilted his head to the side slightly and caught Sherlock's lips with his own, kissing him until neither of them could think straight. 


	84. "Keep going."

Sherlock stayed perfectly still, aside from the kissing. He wouldn't move until John wanted him too. If John wanted him to. He wiped the tears from John's eyes and decided maybe this was too much for John right now. "I'm going to pull out, alright?"   
  
John shook his head firmly. "Please. I can do this. It doesn't hurt anymore." He met Sherlock's gaze. "Please."   
  
Sherlock searched his eyes for indication that John was lying, but ultimately found none. He knew perfectly well how much this hurt, but he also knew of the pleasure he could make John feel if they kept going. He captured John's lips in a passionate kiss, pushing his tongue past John's thin lips and swirling it around. With one hand, he reached down and gently stroked John's member. As soon as his lover was distracted by his touch, he began to move again, slowly pushing himself in until he was fully seated. He broke away with a gasp, trying to process the incredible sensation of John's tight passage around his entire member. "This feels amazing. You're amazing," he murmured in between loving pecks.   
  
John smiled up at him. The pain, for the most part, had ebbed and he could now understand why some people enjoyed this so much. "It does." He agreed, trying not to thrust upwards into Sherlock's hand. "Keep going." He murmured, fingers tightening in Sherlock's hair.   
  
Sherlock smiled and slowly began to move, pumping in an out. "Ah. John," he moaned, closing his eyes as he reveled in the brilliant sensations.   
  
John arched his back, moving in symphony with Sherlock. He let out a shuddering moan, his hands slipping from Sherlock's hair to his back. He dragged his nails across the skin as he tried to find somewhere to grip onto.   
  
Sherlock found himself picking up speed and changed his angle just a bit. As he thrust in again John suddenly arched violently and shouted Sherlock's name in what he hoped was pleasure. Sherlock briefly slowed, still brushing over that same spot, but trying to make sure John was alright.   
  
"Don't. Slow. Down." John growled as pleasure ripped through him. "Harder, Sherlock, Jesus." He knew he wasn't going to last much longer at this rate and, from the rate at which Sherlock was breathing, his lover wasn't either.   
  
With one final shuddering moan, John released all over the pair of them. He collapsed onto the bed, completely spent.   
  
Sherlock followed quickly after John, releasing his seed deep inside and collapsing on top of his fiancéé. He could feel John's cum forming a sticky mess between the two of them, but was too worn out to care.   
  
John let out a breathless giggle. "That was amazing." He said, stroking his fingers through Sherlock's hair.   
  
Sherlock smiled and pushed himself up a little so that he could slide out of John and lay beside him. "I concur wholeheartedly," he murmured, closing his eyes as he wrapped himself around his beloved soldier.   
  
John giggled and kissed the top of Sherlock's head. "Well? Which did you prefer then?" He asked after a moment of silence.   
  
Sherlock pondered for a moment, lazily stroking one hand over John's body. After a moment he spoke up. "I can't really decide. When you... take me, it leaves me absolutely breathless. I love having you inside me. But taking you, it was a whole new and utterly incredible experience. I've never topped anyone before."   
  
John chuckled. "Well I've never had anyone inside me." He said twirling a lock of Sherlock's hair around his fingers. "It was unbelievable amazing but..." He kissed Sherlock's forehead. "If I'm perfectly honest I prefer taking you."   
  
Sherlock tilted his head up to meet John's lips. "I think I can live with that. Thank you though, for this… experiment," he purred.   
  
John shivered. "You are very welcome, my brilliant, sexy man." He murmured. "We should really get cleaned up." He added ruefully.   
  
Sherlock glanced down at the sticky mess that covered John's stomach, and likely his too. "Shall we shower then?" 


	85. "-Not as bad as I expected."

John nodded, smiling at the thought of sharing a shower with his fiancé. "No shower sex though." He teased. "Definitely don't have the stamina." He kissed Sherlock's lips softly and sat up with a groan.   
  
Sherlock chuckled and sat up too. "Should have warned you about afterwards," he teased, kissing John's cheek before standing up to stretch.   
  
John snorted. "I think I'm just old." He retorted. "The aftermath is-" He wriggled his hips experimentally. "-not as bad as I expected."   
  
"I wonder if I should be insulted or pleased," Sherlock replied, walking over to his closet to grab a couple of fresh towels.   
  
"I'm not implying you're small, darling." John teased, getting up gingerly and pulling on Sherlock's dressing gown. He pressed a kiss to his fiancé's cheek. "You have a lovely cock. It's perfect."   
  
Sherlock closed his eyes and leaned towards the kiss. He wrapped a towel around his waist before leading John into the bathroom.   
  
John turned the water on and shed the dressing gown, stepping under the spray. He smiled at Sherlock. "Coming?"   
  
Sherlock hung the towels up on a couple hooks and turned to smile back. "As if I could say no." He stepped in behind John and wrapped his arms over his shoulders as the warms spray washed away the evidence of their earlier activity.   
  
John shifted slightly. "I'm feeling it now." He said with a wince as he arse began to ache. He turned in Sherlock's arms and rested his head on the man's chest. "Sleepy."   
  
Sherlock kissed the top of John's head before reaching over it to get the body wash and a loofah. He gently began washing John's back in neck, and then gently massaging his arse. The spray continually washed away the suds and Sherlock watched them trail over the contours of John's body.   
  
John's eyes had fluttered shut by this stage. The sensation of Sherlock's soft hands on his skin was enough to send him to sleep and he felt himself nodding off.   
  
Sherlock could feel John beginning to sway and smirked. "You can't fall asleep here, John," he murmured, before lightly pinching his fiancé's arse.   
  
John growled as Sherlock woke him up, biting the man on the shoulder in protest. "Fine. Bed." He grumbled. "Am I clean?"   
  
"Grumpy aren't we?" Sherlock teased, before spinning the man around so he could clean his stomach and chest. "There," he said as the last of the suds washed away, "Now you're clean."   
  
John smiled up at his fiancé, kissing him swiftly and hurtling out of the room, stark naked, and back to bed. He shot under the covers and fell asleep in less than ninety seconds, still soaking wet.   
  
Sherlock blinked, still staring at the door where he last saw his fiancé's naked arse. He laughed a little and started cleaning himself. When he was done he dried off and wandered back into the room with a towel around his waist. He saw John was fast asleep, but also caught sight of the water stains on his sheets. He sighed and grabbed the other large towel and gently peeled back the duvet so he could dry John off a little.   
  
John shifted in his sleep at Sherlock's touch and began murmuring inaudible nothings. John grabbed the towel Sherlock was using to dry him and clung to it for dear life, like a toddler to its blanket. He pulled an awful face when Sherlock tried to remove it.   
  
Sherlock rolled his eyes and gave up on trying to retrieve the towel. "You ridiculous man," he murmured, leaning down to kiss John's forehead. He managed to coax the sleeping doctor to roll onto his side and off of the wet patch and wrapped him back up in the duvet. He yawned and walked over to slip into some pajama bottoms and plodded back out to the kitchen. He was feeling tired too, but he needed to finish going over the plans for tomorrow's stake out. He looked at his phone and frowned when he saw a text from Lestrade explaining that he couldn't come help tonight because he had a date.   
  
"Honestly. He has two ex-wives. How many more of those does he want?" he muttered to himself before sitting back down at the table where he had several blueprints laid out.   
  
About an hour later, a shout came from their bedroom. John's Sherlockless state was triggering nightmares and bad memories that he couldn't fight off. He awoke suddenly with a yell, fighting for breath. "Sherlock." He called out before bursting into tears.   
  
Sherlock rushed into the bedroom and processed the scene in a split second. He moved toward the bed and had just sat down when John latched on to him, sobbing into his chest. "I'm right here, John. You're alright, I promise," he soothed, wrapping his lanky arms around John's shaking frame.   
  
John inhaled deeply; the familiar scent of Sherlock's shampoo and the musty smell of chemicals calmed John down considerable. When his sobs subsided, he entwined his fingers around Sherlock's shirt and shivered. "I'm naked." He observed calmly.   
  
"Yes you are, John. In case you don't recall, you fled the bathroom completely nude and made a poor attempt to dry yourself beneath the duvet," Sherlock replied in an amused tone. He hoped a little humour would help John feel better.   
  
John giggled weakly. "I was tired. Will you get me some pjs please?" He grinned hopefully up at Sherlock. "A pair of yours will do."   
  
Sherlock rolled his eyes teasingly and kissed John on the nose before moving to get up. He grabbed a pair that John had stolen before and seemed to like and tossed it onto his lap. He then sat back down on the bed and watched John as he began to move to get dressed.   
  
The doctor was wriggling about on the bed, trying to put the trousers on without actually getting up. After a minute or so, he gave up, standing dejectedly and pulling the pyjamas on the ordinary way. He climbed back into bed. "You should go back and do more work." He told Sherlock. "I'll be fine."   
  
"It's fine. I have most of the details planned out anyway," he replied. He was glad that John didn't look at him in fear anymore after a nightmare, but it worried him that they were still present and had such a profound affect on his beloved doctor. He reached and pulled John towards him, gently kissing his cheek. "I was starting to get tired anyway."   
  
John grinned, settling against Sherlock's chest contentedly. "Love you." He mumbled, eyes fluttering shut.   
  
"Love you too," he murmured, placing a kiss on John's head. "Now get some sleep. I'll be right here."   
  
John's breathing slowed almost immediately and he began to snore softly, his smile never leaving his face.   
  
Sherlock stayed awake for a little while longer, gazing down at the man that he had come to love so much. After everything John had been put through, he still elected to stay with the ridiculous detective. Sherlock placed a few affectionate kisses on John's head before settling down next to him. He closed his eyes and breathed in John's scent before he finally allowed sleep to take him. 


	86. "When do you want to start?"

The next morning John woke up alone. The warm patch beside him told him that Sherlock was only just up and the occasional clink that came from the kitchen assured John he was safe. Well, as safe as anyone could be in a room full of intestines and explosive chemicals.   
  
John got up and padded out to the kitchen to make tea. "Good morning." He said, swallowing a yawn. He planted a kiss on the cheek of his beloved detective.   
  
"Morning," Sherlock hummed. "Did you sleep well?" He asked only out of courtesy as the answer was obvious.   
  
"Wonderfully." John said with a chuckle.   
  
"Tea?" He asked, though, of course, he knew the answer.   
  
"Yes. Don't use the white mugs though. Don't touch the white mugs at all actually," Sherlock warned as he absently observed a reaction through his microscope.   
  
John rolled his eyes. "Come on, Sherlock. You know I like the white mugs." He whined, without really complaining, fishing two duck-egg blue mugs from the cupboard. "What's wrong with the blue ones?" He asked warily, sniffing them.   
  
"Oh! Don't touch drink from those either. I've coated the inside of the blue and white mugs with two kinds of mild poison. I wanted to compare the potency after each have been sitting for a week. I'd recommend you put those back then wash your hands," Sherlock explained, a bit excited about his clever experiment.   
  
John snorted, half amused, half irritated and returned the cups to the shelves. "Fine. Well you just make tea then." He grumbled, stomping into the sitting room and flopping into his chair. He started up his laptop to begin writing up their latest case.   
  
Sherlock sighed and pulled himself away from the table and pulled two striped mugs off of the higher shelf (that John wouldn't have been able to reach anyway). The kettle whistled and he fixed John's tea just the way he liked it while preparing his own. "We're going to need to get more sugar," he commented as he carried the mugs out to the living room. He set one on the small table next to John and carried his own with him over to his own chair.   
  
John smiled. "My, my. I have you very well trained, don't I?" He teased. "I'll do a full shop this evening. Oh, and Sherlock?" He said, suddenly remembering.   
  
Sherlock rolled his eyes at the 'well trained' comment and took a sip of his tea. "Yes, John?"   
  
"When do you want to start working on your new lab?" He asked with a teasing grin.   
  
Sherlock nearly spit out his drink. He had given up on the lab as being a fantasy. "Really? Are you sure? Can we start today? No, we're busy today… Can we start tomorrow? This isn't a joke as payback for pinching your arse is it?" he asked skeptically, biting his lip in anticipation of John's answer.   
  
John chuckled. "We'll start right after this case. Think of it as my wedding present to you." He sipped his tea, enjoying the overly-excited reaction of the man in front of him.   
  
Sherlock put down his mug and sprang across the room, nearly spilling John's mug as he crashed their lips together.   
  
John blinked in surprise before setting down his mug and pulling Sherlock onto his lap. He let himself be kissed, barely attempting to keep up with the franticness of it all. He pulled away after a minute, chuckling. "It's not a big deal, Sherlock." He said teasingly, placing a kiss on his fiancé's nose.   
  
"It is a big deal. I get my own lab, which is great, but you're giving up having your own room; having somewhere you can hide from me when I'm too much to bear," Sherlock replied, swooping back in for another kiss. "Besides, I like kissing you," he murmured, face tinged with a light blush.   
  
John flushed too, grinning like a teenage girl. "You're always too much to bear, sweetheart." He joked. "You're like a bloody whirlwind inside an active volcano. And don't tell me that would never happen, because goddammit, I know. And you're just that impossible."   
  
"Yes, well, I did say danger, and here you are," Sherlock purred, brushing his nose against John's. "Speaking of danger," he started, pressing a kiss to the good doctor's nose, "I was trying to tell you about how I planned to wrap up the mystery tonight with a stake out, but you distracted me."   
  
John hummed. "So it's my fault?" He began lightly drawing circles on Sherlock's back. "Go on, then. What's the plan?"   
  
"A stake out," Sherlock explained excitedly. "I've spoken to the bank manager and, a few years ago, they set up a deal with the jewelers across the street so that all their uncut diamonds and gems can be stored in the banks vault. Those jewels, in addition to the other valuables stored inside can make for a huge payday for our criminals. The missing flatmate got into a bit of financial trouble, and I think they coerced him into assisting. Only the jeweler and the bank manager can access it, at least through conventional means. However, that section of London is old. A long time ago, a few men attempted to rob that same bank by using a tunnel. They were caught before it was completed, but what if those tunnels still exist?"   
  
John hesitated. "I think I got it. But, just in case, say the whole thing again; I wasn't listening." He waited for Sherlock's eye roll before continuing, a grin spreading on his face. "So we put jewels in a bank vault and wait in the hope that someone tries to steal them?"   
  
"The jewels are already in the bank vault. I estimated the total value of everything in that vault is just over two and a half million. Our criminals already know that as they have been staking that bank out for months. If I'm correct, they've been working on the tunnels, and set up a base right under Jones' flat, which is why they needed him out of the way. The inside of the vault only has one security camera, but that's it. I don't think anyone considered someone breaking in from underneath. Tomorrow's Sunday, so the bank will be closed, so they should be breaking in tonight. You, myself, and Lestrade - if he ever replies to my text - will wait in the bank and catch them in the act." Sherlock had a look of glee on his face. Every bit of it seemed like it belonged in a 1920s crime novel, but the danger aspect still made it very exciting.   
  
John nodded. "Now I understand. Sounds like a plan. But I swear to God, Sherlock, if you get shot again." He threatened with no real venom and a grin on his face.   
  
"You'll take care of me, won't you Dr. Watson?" Sherlock teased. "Besides, the plan is to catch them off guard. Chances of getting shot are minimal."   
  
John nodded, pulling Sherlock tighter. "I'll kill anyone who so much as lays a finger on you." He promised, more to reassure himself than Sherlock.   
  
"I don't doubt that for a minute, Captain Watson," Sherlock murmured, nuzzling his face into the crook of John's neck. "I promise we'll be fine, though." He placed a soft kiss over John's collar bone and trailed a few more up his neck. "My brave soldier," he whispered. "I know you'll protect me."   
  
John closed his eyes and leaned in against Sherlock's chest. Despite the fact that the other man was sitting on _his_ lap, despite the fact that John was the owner of the gun, it felt as though Sherlock was his protector. Here, in Sherlock's arms, John didn't feel like an army captain who invaded Afghanistan; he felt like an ordinary man who was far too scared of losing the one thing he loved. Coupled with a gun, that could make him the most dangerous man in Britain, but without the sleek metal killing machine in his hand he just felt tired. "Please be careful." Was all he said in reply, though it came out as more of a whimper.   
  
Sherlock didn't reply right away, too shocked by the meekness of John's plea. After a moment he just nodded silently. "I will," he whispered, giving the doctor a reassuring squeeze. They stayed like that for a few minutes, each reassuring themselves that they were fine and everything was going to be ok. Sherlock felt his phone buzz and sighed as he reluctantly pulled it out of his pocket.   
  
"Oh, now Lestrade replies. Date must have been successful then," Sherlock muttered before typing a reply.   
  
John nodded, forcing a smile. "Go back to your science, then." He nudged at Sherlock playfully. His legs were beginning to get pins and needles from Sherlock's weight.   
  
Sherlock grinned and kissed John on the cheek before sprinting back to his table. He couldn't wait until he had his own lab upstairs. He'd have his own fridge, so more space for dismembered body parts, and then he wouldn't have to worry about John accidentally drinking his solutions. He smiled broadly and set a new slide under his microscope, feeling happier than ever. 


	87. "Tell him I want chocolate fingers or he's not allowed in the secret fort."

John sat back in his chair, perfectly content to listen to Sherlock potter about the kitchen. "You have to promise me one thing though, love." He said after a long, but blissful, silence.   
  
"Hmm? What's that?" Sherlock replied, partly paying attention to John and partly focused on writing down his observations.   
  
"You better not spend all your time in that damn lab. And if you do, I'll take it away."   
  
Sherlock chuckled and looked over to where John was sitting. "Don't worry. I can think of several good reasons that will keep me from staying up their too long," Sherlock said with a grin. "Cases, annoying my brother, visiting the morgue..and oh yes, seeing my fiancé."   
  
John rolled his eyes. "Well as long as I make it onto the list of things worth doing, even if I'm last, I'll probably manage." He picked up his laptop to continue with his blog post, absent-mindedly sipping from his mug. He shuddered. "My tea's gone cold, Sherlock." He whined.   
  
"We have more tea bags in the cupboard," Sherlock replied with a dismissive wave of his hand. His phone buzzed again and Sherlock read it quickly. "Lestrade wants to know if you want snacks for the stake out. I want to know why he can't just ask you himself."   
  
"Tell him I want chocolate fingers or he's not allowed in the secret fort." John joked. Snacks on the stake out. The doctor snorted. The date must have gone well if Greg was acting so childishly. John made a mental note to ring Mycroft when he had the chance.   
  
"Feel free to tell him yourself," Sherlock said, dropping the phone into John's lap. He leaned down and kissed the top of his head. "I need to run out and see about an investment. I'll be back within the hour."   
  
"No." John said loudly. "Sherlock Holmes, bring you damn phone with you. I can text him from my own." He shoved the phone back in Sherlock's hand and stole a quick kiss. "Now you can go." He said with a smile. "Bye, love."   
  
"Be back soon," Sherlock called out over his shoulder. He made his way quickly down the stairs and out the door, hailing a cab to take him towards his destination.   
  
John watched the door for a bit, grinning like a fool (he didn't think he could ever get used to that brilliant man being his) before texting his requirements to Lestrade and calling Mycroft Holmes.   
  
The British Government picked up on the second ring but before he could say anything, John gushed; "How did it go?"   
  
Internally, John cringed; he was now undeniably a teenage girl.   
  
"Please calm yourself, John. I can hang up right now, if I so choose," Mycroft drawled. He wasn't sure how John had convinced him to let him call in the first place.   
  
"But you won't." John said lightly. He knew the Holmes boys; far too in love with the sound of their own voices. “So tell me."   
  
Mycroft sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "He kissed me," he said bluntly, cheeks tingeing a slight pink at the memory.   
  
"You says that like it's a bad thing." John hadn't intended it to be a question but his voice had risen at the end so it sounded like one.   
  
"It was unexpected. I was dropping him off and I considered it, as you said it was customary, and then he kissed me first. It was... pleasant," Mycroft mumbled, feeling completely embarrassed.   
  
John nodded before remembering Mycroft couldn't see the movement. "And how did the rest of the evening go? Dinner? The play?"   
  
"Dinner was interesting. I took him to one of my favorite restaurants, but he didn't speak french, so I had to order for him. We attempted to engage in social conversation, which I thought went poorly, but apparently he thought otherwise. The play was well done. Gregory, um, grabbed my hand at some point. God, why am I telling all this to you?"   
  
John smirked. "Because you need to tell someone or you'll go mad?" He offered. "I do know the feeling, brother dear."   
  
"Please don't call me that. You may be my future brother-in-law, but I prefer if you don't take on all of Sherlock's habits," Mycroft groaned. "How is my brother by the way? I haven't heard from Gregory or any hospitals lately concerning his welfare and I'll admit it's a bit unsettling."   
  
John chuckled. "You say that like you don't spend hours a day stalking him. He's... We're going on a stakeout tonight so I don't want to jinx anything by talking too optimistically about my fiancé's health."   
  
"Yes. Gregory did inform me yesterday about that. Do be careful. My annual budget for hospital bills is approaching the limit," Mycroft said coolly, smirking at his own odd sense of humor.   
  
"You'd sell the moon to send Sherlock to hospital if you needed to and we both know it." John said with a hint of fondness in his voice.   
  
"Indeed I would. You know me very well, John. You're a good man, John Watson and you've done wonders for my brother. I look forward to welcoming you to the family."   
  
"Thank you Mycroft. It's just a pity your father didn't share that opinion."   
  
"My father was a disturbed man. I am sorry that you had to suffer for it," Mycroft replied softly.   
  
John smiled sadly. "See you around, Mycroft. I'll say hi to Greg for you." He hung up and placed the phone on his lap, lost in thoughts about nothing in particular. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I thought I'd somehow deleted this work from existence a minute ago and majorly hyperventilated. But I found it. So it's all g. Not quite sure what went wrong though.... Hmm...
> 
> Anyway, thanks for reading. Love you all etc. etc. Liz xx


	88. "You are so sexy when you talk smart."

Sherlock returned home an hour later with a puzzled expression on his face. He wandered up the stairs and over to his chair autonomously while in his mind he tried to process the new facts.   
  
John frowned when he saw him, standing up instantly to make tea. He returned to Sherlock's side four minutes later, mug in hand. He held it out to his detective. "Is everything alright?"   
  
Sherlock emerged from his mind palace and accepted the offering of tea. He took a small sip before answering John's question. "Pizza boxes, John," was all he said before drifting back into thought.   
  
John snorted, rolled his eyes and sat down in his own chair, across from the mad detective. He picked up his newspaper and began to read.   
  
Half an hour later Sherlock let out a frustrated growl. "It doesn't make any sense, John!" John looked up. "Talk to me, then." He said, reaching forward to rub Sherlock's knee. "Tell me all about it. You think best out loud anyway."   
  
"They were obviously smuggling in something, but i have yet to find any clues as to what that was. Why did they go to such lengths to keep it concealed? A simple package might have sufficed if their plan was to avoid suspicion."   
  
John nodded. "Maybe they were being watched and needing to take extra precautions?" He suggested.   
  
"But by who? They're the equivalent of a mafia. They have wealth, manpower… Who do they have to fear besides..." Sherlock's face suddenly went pale. "John, I was wrong." He said, whipping out his phone to send a text.   
  
John grinned. "I'm helpful." He said happily. "What do you realise?"   
  
"The only thing a group like them had to fear is a rival gang. The baker, he lives in the flat next to the bank. he had several distinctive tattoos, suggesting he use to be an important member of the Reds. No doubt he's retired, but likely has a few younger members keeping an eye on him in case someone should attempt something as crazy as say, an assassination." Sherlock stood and went back over to the kitchen where he had several stills laid out. "Those pizza boxes are heavily weighted and i don't think this is the only delivery he's received."   
  
John closed his eyes, trying to keep up as Sherlock fired words at him. "Alright. So how does that change anything?"   
  
"There's going to be an explosion. Robbing the bank is just a bonus. Their real goal is to take out him and any other Red living nearby."   
  
"Oh." John said simply. "Any chance this bomb will have an off switch?" He added hopefully.   
  
"Only one way to find out," Sherlock said with a small smirk. "We need to leave now. Time is of the essence."   
  
John grinned, standing up. He fetched both their coats and tossed the belstaff to Sherlock. He watched the detective put it on and then reached forward to turn up the collar, kissing him firmly as he did so. "You are so sexy when you talk smart." He purred, grabbing Sherlock's hand and pulling him from the flat.   
  
Sherlock grinned as he followed John into a cab and reached over to grab his blogger's hand. They would need to move quickly to find the entrance to the supposed tunnel and then stop the bombing/robbery. He had to work hard to keep his excitement contained. John grinned and squeezed Sherlock's hand, leaning against his detective. "So what are we doing when we get there?"   
  
"Look for the entrance. If we're lucky, my investment from earlier has paid off and the homeless network already found it," Sherlock replied.   
  
John smiled and nodded, wordlessly.   
  
They arrived and Sherlock bolted, leaving John to pay. When the doctor got out of the cab he spotted Sherlock slipping notes into the hand of a decrepit old man. John hurried to his side. "Good news?"   
  
"Great news," Sherlock said with his trademark grin. "C'mon, it's this way." Sherlock grabbed John's hand and dragged him into an alley. "Did you bring your gun?"   
  
John rolled his eyes. "When do I ever not bring my gun?" He said, only half-joking.   
  
Sherlock just smiled and kept waking. He let go of John's hand as they approached a manhole. He knelt down and removed the cover and then proceeded to climb down.   
  
John followed him down. At the bottom of the ladder, he reached out and grabbed Sherlock's hand again.   
  
"Stay close and keep quiet," Sherlock whispered. He pulled out a small torch and used it to light their way. He led John down a narrow passage until they found a small hole.   
  
"Are you going to fit through that?" John joked under his breath, looking at the gangly detective.   
  
Sherlock gave him a look and rolled his eyes. He pulled off his Belstaff and hung it off a random outcrop before crouching down and working his way through the hole. He had to stretch out onto his stomach, but fortunately the crawl was short. In a master of seconds he was standing I'm another tunnel, this one noticeably older.   
  
John followed a lot more quickly and stood up in the other tunnel. "Well?" He asked softly.   
  
Sherlock held up a hand to signal him to be quiet. He craned his head and focused. To his left he caught the sound of soft footsteps and mumbled swearing. He leaned over to John as close as he could get. "Two men up ahead," he whispered, before turning to make his way quietly down the tunnel.   
  
John nodded, hardly daring to breathe, let alone speak. He watched Sherlock for a sign to start moving either away from or towards the men. He reached into his back pocket, clutching his gun for comfort.   
  
Sherlock halted when he was close enough to distinctly hear the two suspects moving around. He tiptoed a little closer, hoping to get a peek at their operation before figuring out the best way to capture them. Running into a room likely filled with high explosives, guns ablaze, was probably not the best plan. John peered into the room under Sherlock, assessing it with his soldier's experience. He dragged Sherlock back away from the door so they could whisper without being heard. "There's a second door on the other wall. If I find a way to it and cause a distraction to get them from the room, you could sneak in and turn off the bomb."   
  
Sherlock thought it over and nodded hesitantly. John turned to leave when Sherlock shot out and grabbed his arm. "Don't get caught," he whispered, his eyes expressing more than his words did.   
  
John smiled and pressed a quick kiss to Sherlock's lips, not daring to reply. He took Sherlock's torch (the room with the bomb was well-lit, unlike the tunnels) and headed off into the blackness. He glanced back once just before Sherlock disappeared from his view. This would not be last time he saw him, he was determined.   
  
It took fifteen minutes to find the other entrance to the room. The tunnels were decades - if not centuries - old and they were a mess. He picked up half an old brick that was lying on the floor and threw it. It clattered down the tunnel, echoing madly. John shrank back into the shadows as both sentries came out to look, sprinting down the tunnel towards the noise (and away from John). He heard a soft clattering in the room and stepped into the light to see his fiancé crouched over the bomb. "Hurry, Sherlock. We don't have a lot of time."   
  
Sherlock ran his deductive gaze over the device, carefully following the wires and trying to locate the trigger. It was set to a counter, because signals couldn't travel through the tunnels, and set for two hours from now. The sentries were probably left there to make sure no one disturbed the bomb until there was no time left to deactivate it. He cast a glance over to his future husband and then back to the device. "John... On the off chance I do make a mistake."   
  
"What?" John said. "You're going to make me leave? I thought I made it very clear that I don't want to live without you; that there's no way you're allowed to die if I'm not by your side. I believe in you. Now hurry."   
  
Sherlock looked at him and then chuckled and turned back to the bomb. "Stubborn to the end, that's my John. He reached a hand forward and placed it over a button. He shut his eyes and pressed it. 


	89. “We're not safe here."

Silence.   
  
He had been right.   
  
Of course he had been right.   
  
He grinned and stood up and then found himself being whirled around and put face to face with a very angry man.   
  
John had been too busy watching Sherlock to hear the man approach. He now lay, sprawled and unconscious, on the filthy floor of the underground room. The man took a step closer to Sherlock. "Who are you?"   
  
Sherlock flashed a glance over to John and fought down the worry and concern. The man in front of him took another step closer and effectively blocked John's body from view. Sherlock shifted his gaze up to meet the man's eyes, sending him a cool glare. "The name's Sherlock Holmes. Perhaps you heard of me? Famous consulting detective, goes around solving crimes and sometimes preventing them. Take, for example, your attempted bombing. Half of Scotland Yard is on their way here right now and I doubt you were actually taught how to reactivate it, so, to keep things simple: the jig is up. I suggest you surrender." Sherlock knew that he didn't have the physical capability to back up his words, but those were the only weapons he had for the moment as John's gun laid on the other side of the room with it's owner.   
  
The man raised a brow. "You think losing this puny bomb and arresting me and some minions will make a difference?" He taunted, reaching forward to grasp Sherlock by the shirt collar.   
  
"Well, certainly for today," Sherlock shot back, fairly sure the man was bluffing. He was rapidly trying to analyze the man and figure out the best way to get himself and John out of these tunnels alive. "At any rate, how pleased do you think your wife will be when she sees you've been caught? Surely after this she'll leave you for that charming underling." Right. Make him angry. Angry people make mistakes.   
  
The man blinked. "Are you implying my wife is cheating on me?" He growled.   
  
"Oh. You're not sure then. But surely you suspect. You haven't been intimate and a while, and she's requested some time to herself. I doubt she would have let you leave the house with shaving cream on you neck," Sherlock pointed out. Sherlock squirmed a little to see if he could free himself, but the man's grip was like steel. He turned back and thought of a plan. "She probably would have properly washed the blood off your shirt too," he said, indicating to the man's shoulder. The angry man turned to look and Sherlock took this as his opportunity and threw a hook punch into the man's face.   
  
The man staggered backwards at the punch, hand flying to his jaw. He growled and lunged at Sherlock, just missing the lithe man as he dodged. He tripped and fell against the bomb, whacking his head off the smooth steel and knocking himself out instantly.   
  
Sherlock held his bruising fist against his chest and went over and prodded the unconscious man with his shoe and was pleased when he got no response. However, he remembered there was a second man running around somewhere and they needed to get out before he showed up. He scurried over to John's side and rolled his carefully onto his back. "John? John, can you hear me?" He gently shook John's shoulder and leaned down to check his breathing and pulse.   
  
John let out a groan that sounded very like "Sherlock." He winced slightly at his fiancé's touch and blinked.   
  
Sherlock breathed a sigh of relief and placed a kiss on John's forehead. "You're alright," he murmured, not sure who he was really trying to reassure. "John, you need to wake up. We're not safe here."   
  
John sat up unsteadily and felt a wave of confusion crash down on him. He wavered and blinked rapidly. "I - I'm ok." He lied.   
  
Sherlock frowned, but his head shot up in alert as he heard the sound of rapidly approaching footsteps. "Shit." He grabbed John's gun with one hand and put it in his waistband before trying to help John to his feet.   
  
John's head lolled forwards as he leant on Sherlock. He shook himself. This was no way for a soldier to act. He grabbed his gun from Sherlock and pushed the detective ahead of him. "Go." He hissed, running after him, eyes never leaving the second door.   
  
Sherlock shot him a worried look, but kept moving. He made sure to glance back every so often to check that John was still keeping up. The crawl was just up ahead. If they could get through that they were basically home free.   
  
John waited by the hole. "Go." He repeated to Sherlock who was hesitating on danger's side. "Go and for God's sake stop wasting time checking on me, I'm fine. Now, run."   
  
Sherlock wanted to argue that John should go first, but the ex-army soldier practically shoved him to the ground as a shot rang out. He hated it, but he had no choice to move forward. He crawled as quickly as he could and then turned to wait for John. "Hurry," he called out.   
  
"Don't wait for me, Sherlock." John barked. He had to figure out a way to get out of the tunnel without letting the gun slack... He backed down the tunnel, feet first, hitting his head on the tunnel roof more than once, but then finally, finally, he was on the other side.   
  
Safe. Well, almost.   
  
Sherlock grabbed John's arm and tugged him out of direct sight of the crawl. "We can pin him here if he tries to follow," Sherlock suggested.   
  
John frowned. "I told you not to wait, Sherlock." He whispered. "We're not trying to incapacitate him, we're trying to escape. Lestrade can do the rest. Now move."   
  
Sherlock didn't have much of a choice as John practically dragged him ahead, lighting the way with a small torch. He heard a loud swear behind them, and then some yelling, but the cockney accent was so thick it was hard to make out what he was saying. The gunshot that followed, however, was perfectly clear. Sherlock felt the bullet whiz over his shoulder and that spurred him to move a bit faster.   
  
John paused until Sherlock was ahead of him again and turned the gun on the attackers. He fired once, a warning shot, and yelled at Sherlock to go up the ladder as fast as he could.   
  
Sherlock didn't wait to be told twice. He scrambled up the ladder and removed the cover and stood at the top, looking down at John below who had one hand on the ladder and his gun facing down the tunnel.   
  
It was difficult, climbing a ladder with one hand. John wouldn't have done it all if it weren't for the fact that Sherlock would have come back down after him if he'd simply given up down there in the tunnel. The idiots didn't even try to shoot at him, just gazed stupidly as he escaped. 


	90. "You're a terrible patient."

When he reached the top, the two man replaced the cover and John secured it so they wouldn't be followed. When he was certain they were safe he looked up at his detective. He sighed with relief to see that his idiot was still in all one piece. "Never do that to me again." He growled, stepping forwards and capturing Sherlock in a desperation-filled kiss.   
  
Sherlock let John take what he needed and returned the kiss tenderly. "Understood," he murmured when the finally broke apart. "Though I'm not sure what you mean entirely. Are you referring to dragging you into the tunnels to diffuse a bomb guarded by two of the worst shots in London, or waking you after you were knocked unconscious, speaking of which." Sherlock moved around and examined the back of John's head, looking for any signs of bleeding.   
  
"I mean putting yourself in someone's line of fire again." John fumed, standing still to allow Sherlock to examine him. "I don't like it."   
  
"We were in a straight-lined tunnel, John. There was hardly anywhere I could stand that wasn't in the line of fire. Besides, you had just woken up from taking a heavy blow to the head. I wasn't going to risk you passing out and falling into their hands." He gently prodded the back of John's hand and pulled away when the doctor hissed in pain. There was some blood on his fingers, but the amount indicated the wound wasn't too large, but still likely in need of stitches. "We need to get you to a hospital and where the hell is Lestrade? Eventually they're going to make up their minds about what their next plan should be," Sherlock muttered.   
  
Just as Sherlock began to grumble, the detective inspector arrived with back up and an ambulance (he knew Sherlock and John well enough by now to know they'd need one). John was parcelled up and popped into the ambulance, much to his disgust.   
  
Sherlock strode over to Lestrade and explained how to get to the location of the bomb and described the two men that had been guarding it. Without waiting for Lestrade to reply he turned and began to walk towards the ambulance, intent on riding with John to the hospital.   
  
John held out his hand to Sherlock as the detective appeared. He was sitting up on the bench with paramedics poking at his head. "Nothing to worry about, sir." One said. "You're not concussed, and you only need thr-"   
  
"I'm an army doctor. Don't be so condescending. Please." John snapped.   
  
The paramedic promptly shut up and looked to Sherlock who just smirked and took John's hand. "You're a terrible patient," he murmured in John's ear, not caring if the paramedics could hear him.   
  
"Doctors are always terrible patients. Everyone knows that." John said, trying to sound snarky, but instead sounding tired. "Will I be allowed go home or do you need to take me to hospital?" He asked the paramedic. He really hoped they could escape the hospital; they'd seen far too many in the last few months.   
  
"We can stitch you up right here," the medic replied. He shuffled over to grab his supplies and came back. He was about to use his patient voice again to remind John to stay still, but thought better of it. He finished cleaning the cut and provided a localized anesthetic before telling John he was about to start. Sherlock watched him work, squeezing John's hand for both of their comforts.   
  
John sat silently until procedure was finished and then stood up. "Thank you." He said stiffly. "Come on, love. I've got an Ikea catalogue at home; we can start planning your lab, as promised." He stepped out of the ambulance and let Sherlock hail a cab.   
  
Sherlock climbed into the cab eagerly. He scooted to the far side to let John in. As the cab took off his adrenaline started to finally wear off and he became aware of the throbbing in his hand. Even more so when John reached over to grab it and he pulled it away in response to the pain.   
  
John frowned. "Let me see." He said, holding out his hand to take Sherlock's for inspection. "You should have told me you were hurt."   
  
"I had forgotten," Sherlock explained sheepishly. "It's from when I punched the angry man that had taken you out." John chuckled, turning the hand over   
  
carefully. "You didn't break anything but you might have bruising along here." He brushed the skin along his knuckles lightly. "How hard did you hit the guy?"   
  
"As hard as I could, given the circumstances," Sherlock replied, blushing. "I love you, you ridiculous man." John said softly as the cab pulled up at Baker Street. "I'll pay. Go upstairs and make tea." He demanded. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Omg.  
> Only ten chapters left.
> 
> Thanks for all your comments and kudos. You're all wonderful.


	91. “I want my mugs and my sugar bowl back."

Sherlock kissed John on the cheek and made his way into the flat. He set a kettle on the stove and relaxed into a chair as he waited for it to whistle.   
  
John meandered in a minute later. He fetched a few catalogues from a drawer and dumped them on the coffee table. "Look through those." He said, going to the kitchen to tend to the tea.   
  
Sherlock grinned like a child on Christmas day as he began perusing the magazines. He found a kitchen island that could serve to replace the kitchen table and a set of cabinets for holding all his equipment. He then found himself caught up browsing the refrigerators, barely noticing when John placed a cup of tea down in front of him.   
  
"Well dear?" He asked, sipping his own tea. "What have you found?"   
  
Sherlock skid the magazine over, keeping his finger planted on top of one refrigerator in particular. He gave John a puppy dog face as he waited on John's ruling.   
  
John frowned. "Are you sure it's big enough?" He asked after studying the text beside the picture. He glanced at the others: the kitchen counters, the sink, the oven and nodded. "The rest is fine though."   
  
"It's the biggest they have. We could look elsewhere, but those might be a bit expensive." Sherlock replied. He would like the perfect size refrigerator, but he was aware of cost limitations, albeit reluctantly.   
  
John nodded. He was aware that this was his present to Sherlock and the last thing he wanted was to borrow money from him. "We'll keep looking." He said, marking the fridge that Sherlock liked with a red X.   
  
Sherlock smiled and opened up another catalogue to continue perusing. As he skimmed through the section on stools and chairs, he began wondering what sort of wedding present he should get John. The man deserved something, for all that's he's done and put up with, and Sherlock wanted to get him something that would let John know exactly how much Sherlock cared for and appreciated him.   
  
John flicked through another catalogue, pausing and looking up at Sherlock. "We have to get you proper beakers as well. I want my mugs and my sugar bowl back." He grinned.   
  
"I know a supplier that owes me a favor," Sherlock said with a smirk that quickly evolved into an excited grin. He was gripping the edges of his seat to keep himself from bouncing around.   
  
John bit his lip to stop himself grinning like an idiot. "I love you." He said, shaking his head and chuckling softly.   
  
Sherlock couldn't keep still at that point. He got up and stood behind John, leaning down to drape his arms around the doctor's shoulders. "I love you too," he murmured in John's ear, kissing him on the cheek. "So much," he said, trailing his kisses down to John's jaw, then continuing along his neck. "You're absolutely brilliant."   
  
John felt a shudder run through him at Sherlock's touch and tilted his head to give the detective more room. "Yes, and you're ridiculous." He murmured fondly.   
  
"Mmm, but you wouldn't have me any other way," Sherlock replied, his lips moving against the delicate skin. He gently pinched the skin of John's neck between his teeth and then began sucking. He wanted to leave a mark to let everyone know John was his.   
  
John groaned softly. "Definitely not. You're wonderful."   
  
Sherlock hummed in satisfaction and sucked for a few more seconds before pulling away. He kissed the mark and then moved back up to John's ear. He thought back to seeing John unconscious in the tunnel and muzzled the side of his head affectionately. "My brave soldier."   
  
"'Bravery is by far the kindest term for stupidity, wouldn't you agree?'" John quoted, smirking softly.   
  
"If that's the case, I'm about to marry a complete idiot," Sherlock teased, dropping his head to rest on John's shoulder. "And then I still wouldn't pick anyone else but you."   
  
John smiled and leant back in his head against Sherlock's. "How on earth did I get so lucky?" He mumbled.   
  
"I believe this all started with you getting shot. Not sure if that qualifies as lucky," Sherlock said jokingly, kissing the injured shoulder.   
  
John chuckled. "I would have found you eventually." He murmured. "I would have wandered the world, incomplete and crying out, until you rescued me."   
  
"Rescue you? I believe you were the one who shot the cabbie," Sherlock replied fondly.   
  
John smiled. "You rescued me in a metaphorical sense. Anyone could have shot the cabbie. Now come on, let's get this room planned out." 


	92. “I love you slightly more.”

Sherlock didn't dare to move. He didn't dare to breathe. It couldn't be real.   
  
After a couple weeks of shopping, moving, building, painting, and arguing about how to properly install a sink fixture, Sherlock was standing in the room of his dreams. Beakers and equipment were stored in a cabinet with glass windows. Bunsen burners sat on the counter, connected securely to a gas line. Rows of tubes were neatly lined on the kitchen island and, best of all, a deluxe refrigerator sat beautifully in the back of the room, just waiting to be filled with various specimens. Sherlock thought for a moment that he might actually spill tears of joy. What really topped the cake, though, was seeing his soon-to-be husband standing in the middle of the room and smiling handsomely back at him.   
  
John didn't let himself speak; anything he said might ruin the moment. If William Sherlock Scott Holmes had ever looked like a child on Christmas morning, this was that time. John could only watch him as he studied the room; their weeks of hard work had paid off and the room looked very well (if John did say so himself). It was impressive how much science equipment could fit into what had been his poky upstairs bedroom and how it didn't feel crowded or cluttered (though John knew he should give it a week and then make a better judgement on that regard). Everything was sparkling and there was a steriliser in the corner (that John doubted Sherlock would use) to keep it that way. John wouldn't have cared if the place looked like a dump; as long as Sherlock was happy, he was. And Sherlock looked very happy.   
  
Sherlock's face was starting to ache from smiling non-stop, but he couldn't help it. He focused his gaze on John and strode across the room, pulling John into a joyful kiss. "I love you. I love this room, but I love you slightly more. But this room. My lab," he breathed, gazing around once more, still smiling ear to ear.   
  
John chuckled, resting his head on Sherlock's chest. "I love you too. And I'm so glad you like it."   
  
"So much." Sherlock replied, still in complete awe. He would be starting up an experiment right now if it wasn't for the fact that John had made him promise he would come with him to meet with the wedding planner in half an hour.   
  
John smiled at him. "I'll go get ready to meet Connie." He said, as if reading Sherlock's mind. "If you promise not to do anything too time consuming, you can start an experiment." John hesitated. "Though perhaps a better use of your time would be to transfer your organs from my fridge downstairs and then clean it."   
  
Sherlock rolled his eyes and thought it over. "I can start transferring the specimens, but I can't guarantee the fridge will be clean before we leave."   
  
John smiled. "Your best is all I ask, my love." He murmured, wrapping his arms around Sherlock's neck. "And there's been a change of plans; she's coming to see us."   
  
"Is she? Why the change of plans?" Sherlock asked, draping his arms around John's waist.   
  
"I told her about the present I got you and she gushed and told me she'd do anything to see it." John said lightly, tucking a single curl behind Sherlock's ear.   
  
"Hmm..perhaps I should get started moving the specimens right away so that she can see how they will be organised in the fridge," Sherlock said with a teasing smirk. He never ceased to find amusement in the look of horror on people's faces whenever they came across some of his more morbid experiments.   
  
"Scare away the wedding planner and I won't marry you." John said sternly, though both of the men knew he was joking. He stood up on his toes and brushed his lips across Sherlock's.   
  
Sherlock fought to suppress a chuckle and leaned forward just enough to press their lips together for a proper kiss.   
  
John pulled him closer, deepening the kiss with a smile. The doorbell rang and John pulled away with a curse. "Damn the woman. She's early."   
  
Sherlock grabbed John's chin and pulled him back into the kiss for another few seconds before finally letting him go. "You should see her in. I'll get tea started."   
  
John whistled. "Who are you and what have you done with my lover?" He teased. He hurried from the room and down the stairs to show the wedding planner upstairs.   
  
Sherlock followed him down at a slower pace and stopped off in the kitchen. He set a kettle on and prepared three (hopefully untainted) mugs for them to drink from.   
  
John brought her back up to the flat and offered her a seat. "Connie, this is Sherlock, my fiancé. Sherlock, Connie Gail." He introduced as the detective brought in tea. They all sat down.   
  
"Oh, it's a pleasure to meet you, Sherlock," she exclaimed, holding out her hand as Sherlock set the tea down on the coffee table.   
  
Sherlock put on his usual 'client' smile and shook her hand. "You as well. I suppose I must thank you for volunteering to plan our wedding."   
  
"Oh, it's no bother. As I was telling John, Jim dear is an old friend, I was more than happy to help him." She was smiling brightly but her eyes looked dead and scared.   
  
John coughed and picked up their wedding folder. "So here's what Sherlock and I had in mind." He said. They had avoided purple in every shade as much as was humanly possible; John didn't want to be reminded of his last horrible marriage on the (actual) best day of his life.   
  
Sherlock frowned at the mention of Jim's name. He had been hoping that overtime he would be able to convince John that Moriarty had no part in this, but it was too late now. He looked over at his fiancé and John seemed to be handling it rather well, so he decided that it would be best to drop it and move on.   
  
Connie browsed through through the folder, nodding and mumbling some things to herself. "You've thought this through, which is great. It looks like you are going for a large wedding, correct?" she asked, looking up at John with a professional smile.   
  
John hesitated, glancing at Sherlock. "We don't really know that many people. I think we rather imagined it would be a small occasion. Right, love?"   
  
"I think small, but elegant, was what we were aiming for," Sherlock replied. He never was one for large crowds and, for safety reasons, wanted to keep many details discrete from the public, lest some criminal tried to crash the wedding.   
  
John nodded and turned back to Connie. "I doubt there will be more than thirty people there in total." He watched her flick through the book for she spoke again.   
  
"And your colour scheme?" That was an easy one. "Ivory and sky blue," both men said simultaneously.   
  
Connie giggled. "You two are just adorable."   
  
Sherlock blushed a little and hid his face by drinking his tea. Unfortunately, Connie still noticed and chuckled. "I never took you for one to be shy, Sherlock, based on what I've heard."   
  
"Oh? And what have you heard?" Sherlock replied coolly, returning his cup to the table.   
  
"I've read the papers. You're 'emotionless' according to some, 'just plain rude' to others. I never believed them, of course." She paused and looked between them. "Perhaps it's John that causes you to be like this, then."   
  
"The papers aren't necessarily wrong but, yes, John's made me… better," Sherlock confessed, looking away in embarrassment.   
  
John bit his lip and looked at Sherlock, feeling such a rush of fondness he thought he might burst. He suddenly remembered Connie Gail was in the room and tore his gaze away. "So." He said, clearing his throat. "The centrepieces." 


	93. "That doesn't seem impossible."

"Oh, yes. Of course. The centrepieces." Connie pulled out the photos and spread them out across the table. "I see you have multiple options laid out. Was there one in particular that stood out to you? If not, I have a few ideas that I think you would like."   
  
John nodded. "I was thinking of something small, simple. We don't want something so big people can't see around them." He said lightly. " And I'd rather like if you could include forget-me-nots." He paused. "I understand forget-me-nots are weeds but if there's anything you can do, they grew everywhere when I was growing up and I love them."   
  
"Of course. In fact, they would blend perfectly with some white roses. Oh, I love it. I'll have a few sample arrangements made," she replied excitedly. "Sherlock. Did you have any preferences?"   
  
Sherlock looked up and down at the photos. "I, um, I think the forget-me-nots and roses sound perfect," he supplied. There was a reason he wasn't a consulting wedding planner.   
  
John smiled. He felt himself getting doe-eyed again and hurriedly sipped his tea. "Anything else you'd like to discuss?"   
  
Connie nodded, consulting her notes. "Do you have a date? A venue? Invitations? Suits? Best men? A guest list? Music?" She paused to take a breath and John cut her off before she could speak again.   
  
"How about you get us a list of things and we'll discuss what we'd like for each?"   
  
Connie smiled and wrote down the larger points. "Once we have a date and location, we can focus on the smaller details. You said the number of guests will probably be around 30, so I will compile a list of venues that would suit a small party. You can looked through those and then we can visit your favorites to see which feels best.   
  
Sherlock just got an idea for John's wedding gift. He tried to hide his excitement and made a note that he would have to speak privately with Connie later.   
  
John nodded, not noticing Sherlock's sudden eureka moment. "That sounds brilliant. Thank you."   
  
Connie nodded, handing John the list.   
  
He scanned it. "That doesn't seem impossible." He said with a smile, handing the list to Sherlock.   
  
"I think we can have a date picked out within the next week. I suppose the guest list might take longer," Sherlock mused, skimming down the items. "I assume you'll be creating a list of options for the venue and invitations. As for the best men… who do people usually pick?"   
  
John hesitated. "I picked you last time because I couldn't get married without you by my side. But now that isn't an issue... I don't know, people pick their good friends. How about Greg and Mike?"   
  
Sherlock nodded in agreement. Greg was probably the closest person that he would qualify as a 'friend' and heaven forbid that he had to ask his brother. "Greg and Mike it is," he said quickly, before anyone else was suggested.   
  
John smirked. "I wonder if Mike ever imagined this when he introduced us." He said softly. He glanced over at Connie when she began packing up her things. "We'll call you when we've got the list complete. Thank you for coming." He offered her a smile, not half as bright as one that Sherlock could conjure on demand but friendly all the same.   
  
"Not at all. You two are a lovely couple and I am so pleased that you agreed to let me assist with you wedding," she replied, smiling genuinely at the pair.   
  
John stood up to show her to the door. After he had closed it behind her, he turned to Sherlock.   
  
"She's wonderful." He said, uncharacteristically cold. "I suppose we should thank Moriarty."   
  
Damn, Sherlock thought. "John, I'm sorry." Sherlock wasn't entirely sure what he was apologizing for, but it felt like the right thing to say. He moved forward with the intent to pull John into a hug.   
  
John dodged Sherlock's arms and sat back down in his chair, heaving a sigh. "Does he expect an invitation? Because he's not getting one. He ruined our lives."   
  
Sherlock dropped his arms, slightly disappointed, but turned and sat in his own chair. "Of course he's not getting an invitation, John. I wouldn't dream of letting him anywhere near you ever again."   
  
John nodded. "But then... What if this is him trying to make amends? You mentioned some Moran guy; maybe he's changed..." John shook away the thought. "Contact him and thank him at the very least, Sherlock."   
  
Sherlock chuckled and leaned back. "You make it sound as if we're often in contact. I have no idea where to find him," he replied. "But yes. It turns out he and I keep finding more 'commonalities'."   
  
John huffed, picking up the list again. "Suits. You wouldn't happen to have a tailor who owes you a favour, would you?"   
  
"No," Sherlock replied with a smile. "But Mycroft can get us a discount with his usual."   
  
John inhaled deeply and nodded. "Right. Fine. Good."   
  
Sherlock leaned forward again and rested a hand on John's knee. "It's going to a spectacular wedding, John. I promise."   
  
John smiled at Sherlock. "Of course it is. And even if it isn't, it's the next fifty years that really matter anyway."   
  
"The happiest years of our lives," Sherlock murmured, gently caressing John's leg.   
  
"The happiest years of my life started the day I met you, Sherlock." John said softly, climbing onto Sherlock's lap and curling up there.   
  
Sherlock leaned back and wrapped his arms around him, resting his chin on top of John's head. He was touched by John's words and realized the same was true for him. "Meeting you was the best thing that ever happened to me," he replied, kissing John's forehead. 


	94. “Are you saying that you're... Sherlock-sexual?"

John smiled. "Do you have anything you want to do today?" He murmured. "Because I just want to sit here for a while."   
  
Sherlock thought to his experiments and his beautiful lab, but then returned his focus to his wonderful fiancé. "No. I'm all yours," he replied, giving John a brief squeeze.   
  
John snorted. "If you want to do your science, you can go." He mumbled, hoping it was clear to Sherlock he really really didn't want him to.   
  
Sherlock chuckled and kissed John's cheek. "My science can wait til tomorrow. Besides, I'm currently trapped by my amazing husband-to-be. Why on earth would I try to leave?"   
  
John giggled. "How did you ever let me marry someone else?" He asked softly after a moment. Planning their wedding brought back all the memories from his previous marriage; Mary and the lies and the baby and messy divorce and... Sherlock being shot. John clutched that little bit tighter to Sherlock at that memory.   
  
Sherlock smiled sadly, thinking of the constant heartbreak he had felt during that period. "I had hurt you. I thought you deserved someone better." he replied. "Besides, I believe at that point you still were not gay," he added with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.   
  
John pulled away from Sherlock's chest. "I wasn't lying. I'm not gay." He said lightly. "You're the only man for me." His lips traced the cut-throat line of Sherlock's jaw bone.   
  
Sherlock's lips parted slightly and he tilted his head. "So, are you saying that you're… Sherlock-sexual?" he purred, smirking at the new-found term.   
  
John chuckled against the ivory skin. "I've been attracted to women before, so not quite. I... I'm me." He finalised before stretching out his tongue to taste his fiancé's flawless neck.   
  
Sherlock groaned and traced his hands over John's back. "You're perfect," he hummed, closing his eyes in bliss.   
  
John hummed in agreement. He tilted his head and captured Sherlock's lips with his own.   
  
Sherlock moved his lips in sync with John, parting them slightly so he could run his tongue over John's lips.   
  
John groaned appreciatively, reaching out to taste the tea and hint of tobacco on Sherlock tongue.   
  
Sherlock lured John's tongue into his mouth, gently sucking on the probing muscle while his hands gripped the back of John's shirt. He moaned as John's tongue pushed deeper, expertly probing the depths of his mouth.   
  
John's hands slipped under Sherlock's silken shirt as their tongues danced together in a routine they had long since mastered. He ran his fingers over the soft skin almost lazily.   
  
Sherlock groaned appreciatively and pressed his chest towards John's roaming hands. His own had found their way down to John's arse and he gave it a small squeeze.   
  
John gasped into Sherlock's mouth at the sudden touch, pulling away. "No sex." He mumbled.   
  
"No?" Sherlock repeated, quirking an eyebrow, but removing his hands from their current location.   
  
John chuckled. "No. Not really in the mood. Feel all you like though." He winked and licked a stripe down Sherlock's neck before beginning to claim a particularly pale patch as his own.   
  
Sherlock hummed and closed his eyes again as his hands traced lazily over John's body.   
  
John grazed his teeth across the skin and worried it slightly with his tongue.   
  
Sherlock breathed a pleasured sigh, tightening his hands in John's jumper. "Marking what's yours, captain?" he asked, arching his neck a little as John sucked on the skin again.   
  
John moaned. "You should call me that more often." He purred against the white expanse of neck.   
  
"Yes, sir," Sherlock moaned. He whined a little when John finally pulled away, but that was immediately muffled by another kiss. He was grinning happily by the time John pulled away again. "My captain," he murmured. 


	95. “We can wait til next month, or for five years.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Here comes the groom_   
>  _Da da da daaa_

It was, quite possibly, the worst day for a wedding. They had picked a day in August, the nineteenth to be exact, expecting it to be sunny and warm. London did not comply, sending them lashing rain and thunder and lightning that made William Sherlock Scott Holmes, Consulting Detective and smart-arsed genius, cower behind his wardrobe door (or his soldier, whichever was closer) and whimper. John was extremely thankful they hadn't chosen to hold the ceremony in the park that Connie had pushed them towards. They instead had chosen a smart hotel in the middle of London.  
  
Sherlock was in the bathroom, preening himself. Had been for forty minutes. John called out to him; he was getting worried. The ceremony was due to start in fifteen minutes. "Come on, Sherlock. If you make us late to our own wedding, I will murder you." He got no reply and began to panic. What if Sherlock had gotten cold feet and bolted? What if he'd gotten scared of the thunder, slipped on the tiled floor and passed out? What if he was on his phone playing Angry Birds and tuned of the rest of the world? John tried the door handle. Locked. All three of these solutions could only be helped by breaking the door down. John decided to call out again, just in case.  
  
"Sherlock, love, can you hear me?"  
  
Sherlock knuckles were white as he gripped the bathroom sink. He flinched as another roll of thunder echoed through the air and cursed London's unfortunate relationship with the weather. On top of that, he was so nervous that he felt like he could throw up at any moment. He was about to marry John, in less than fifteen minutes as he was so courteously reminded. They were going to march down the aisle, say their vows, and then be officially wedded until death do they part. But what if something went wrong. What if John started to resent him or started missing women or got tired of the danger and the experiments. Sherlock tried to remind himself that John had been living with him for years now and had shown no true desire to leave, but what did a few years compare to decades. The thunder sounded again and Sherlock squeezed his eyes shut with a pathetic whimper. God, what if he couldn't keep it together during the ceremony because of this idiotic storm. No one else knew of his fear, but John and, unfortunately, Mycroft and his mother. He opened his eyes and looked at himself in the mirror. I look like crap, he thought. His face was pale and some of his curls were glued to his head by his cold sweat. To top it off he couldn't stop himself from trembling. And then there was that incessant pounding on the door. Probably John. He should be careful, the hotel manager won't be pleased to have their door broken down.  
  
John hammered on the door again. "Please. Sherlock! Come out. We don't have to do this today if you're scared. We can wait til next month, or for five years. It doesn't matter to me. Just please come out so I can make sure you're alright."  
  
I don't want to wait. Sherlock thought. If I wait that means there's more time for someone to steal John away from me. Sherlock shook his head and tried to get his thoughts straight.  
  
John pounded on the door again and Sherlock took a deep breath before slowly releasing his death grip on the sink. On shaky legs he stumbled over to the door and unlocked it.  
  
John flung the door open and pulled Sherlock out and onto the bed, checking his temperature and his pulse as he did so. He knelt down in front of him. "It's going to be ok. Whatever you chose, I will never ever leave you." He promised. "I love you. Now -" He stood up and fetched Sherlock a glass of water. "- drink that, I'll go tell the guests we'll be a little late starting."  
  
Sherlock wanted to say something, but John had already walked out the door. He sighed and took small sips of his water, trying not to spill any as his hands continued to shake. Who in a million years would have ever thought he, Sherlock Holmes, would be getting married? Not even he saw this one coming. And he was already messing it up. What am I doing? I wanted this to happen. I want to marry John. There's no reason to be nervous. I was already married to him once, for heaven's sake. He groaned and set his empty glass aside before rolling over and curling into a ball. My suit is going to be wrinkled, he thought. I can't marry John with a wrinkled suit. He rolled back over and sat up, straightening out his jacket just as there was a knock on the door. John wouldn't knock. "It's open," he called out.  
  
Mycroft walked stiffly into the room. "Your fiancé has been captured by his mother. I came to ensure you were alright." He said softly. He sat down beside his brother. "Talk to me." He said, pulling Sherlock into him, feeling like he was twelve again (and Sherlock five), when his baby brother came to him with every little problem.  
  
Any other day, Sherlock would scowl, make some smart comment, Mycroft would respond in kind and they would both be on their way. He would definitely not be leaning into Mycroft and relying on his comfort to help calm his nerves. "I'm a mess. I'm ruining my wedding day, John's wedding day, because I can't come to terms that this is actually happening." The lighting struck just outside the window, making Sherlock jump and then swear. "And this god forsaken storm," he growled before once again leaning pathetically against his brother. "What's wrong with me?" he mumbled.  
  
Mycroft soothed Sherlock as best he could. "Now now, the thunder never hurt anyone." He murmured, running his fingers through Sherlock's hair, starting at his temple and snaking back in a delicate and practised zigzag. "And you love John, and John loves you. He never left you, despite the mess you leave behind you or the organs everywhere. He likes when you play violin at three am. A man like that will never leave you unless you push him away." Mycroft leaned in close to Sherlock's ear. "Make sure you don't do such a thing."  
  
Sherlock pulled away and looked at Mycroft with an expression that was a mixture of confusion and horror. "Why would I ever push him away?" Sherlock asked. "I'm emotionally troubled, not an idiot."  
  
"You might push him away inadvertently, brother mine. John Watson will wait forever for you, but you must communicate with him. If you wish to marry him today, let me help you with your suit and we shall go out there. If not, tell him as soon as you can. But do not let him think that you cannot go to him when you need help." Mycroft sighed. "Why are you scared?"  
  
Sherlock downcast his eyes, hating to admit his brother could be right. John had made it perfectly clear that he would never leave, promising almost every day that he would love Sherlock til the end of their days. "I never thought anyone would care for me, let alone love me, like John does. It almost seems like someone is playing a cruel trick, and as soon as I've accepted it, John will be taken away from me, whether it be by his own will or some external power. This whole thing is like a dream, and the idea that I might wake up from it terrifies me."  
  
Mycroft pulled Sherlock closer. "It's doubtful you're in a dream, brother, because that would mean I'm dreaming too. Or I am not real, which, I can assure you, would be preposterous. He wouldn't leave you from his own will-power; he withstood three days of torture and returned still loving you. You are the rock in his life as much as he is in yours."  
  
"He is my everything. I used to think that was the most ridiculous saying, but I understand it better now. I couldn't possibly survive without him," Sherlock confessed. "And I know the same goes for him." Sherlock took a few deep breaths, his trembling reducing to just a few, infrequent shakes. "I look like a mess, though. John wouldn't care, but I imagine Mummy would bury me alive if I walked down the aisle looking like this."  
  
Mycroft stood up and led Sherlock to the full-length mirror, dressing him and prepping him like they were only young again. He brushed out his hair, straightened out his suit and re-tied his tie. He stood back and marvelled at his handy work, holding out his arm for Sherlock to link around his own. "Do me the honour of letting me give you away?" He asked, a soft smile on his face.  
  
Sherlock hadn't seen his brother look so genuinely happy since they were children. He nodded and laced their arms together, allowing Mycroft to lead him out into the hallway. "Thank you," he whispered. "Sincerely."  
  
Mycroft smiled as they turned into the main room. "Anything for you, little brother." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, five chapters left...  
> Can't believe it's so close to being finished!


	96. "Of course I do."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Second Wedding, part 1

Murmurs started up as they entered the room. Harry nudged John and he looked up, jaw dropping when he saw Sherlock. He stood, half way down the aisle, beaming to the point where it looked painful.   
  
Sherlock smiled back nervously, a nice pink blush gracing his cheeks. The music started and Mycroft led him forward, one achingly slow step at a time. Each step closer to John, to his blogger, his soldier, his doctor, his partner in crime, and soon to be his partner in life. His heart swelled with each step and his smile steadily grew. I'm marrying John Watson, the most loyal, brilliant, adoring man I have ever met. The storm rumbled again, but Sherlock was too distracted by the blonde man in a tux who was waiting just for him.   
  
When the pair reached the doctor, Mycroft let Sherlock go and John held out his hand, half dragging his fiancé up the aisle in his haste to reach the minister. They stood, side by side, still holding hands when the ceremony began.   
  
Sherlock's palms felt sweaty and he knew his hands were still shaking. John must have felt the tremors as he gave John's hands a tender squeeze as the stood, listening to the minister recite the sacred words to bond them together.   
  
"And now for your vows," the minister said, cuing John with a simple nod of the head.   
  
John turned to Sherlock, not letting go of the hand in his. "Sherlock Holmes," He began. "The moment I met you, I thought you would be the maddest, most ridiculous, most difficult person I had ever met. Never have I been so right." A few titters rose from their audience. "But I had never met a person who was so genuine and brilliant and, despite the fact that you are a complete cock, loving. That is what surprised me the most. Everyone had been so wrong about you.   
  
"When I realised I had fallen in love with you, I only said to myself, 'that makes sense'. Because nothing had ever made more sense. And then you told me you loved me too. And, frankly, that makes even less sense with every passing day. I am the luckiest person in the world to have somehow convinced you that I am worthy of you. And I will spend the rest of my life trying to be the husband that you deserve."   
  
A very Mrs-Hudson-like sob broke through the John-and-Sherlock bubble that surrounded them but, although they heard her, their eyes stayed locked on one another.   
  
Sherlock smiled and let out a small almost silent laugh at John's nonsensical speech, but the message was clear enough. "J-ohn," he started, pausing to clear his throat as it started to tighten with the threat of tears. "John," he tried again, his voice coming out much clearer. "Before I met you I was an egotistical, self-centered arse who believed himself to be above everyone else on earth. Some would argue that I still am." Greg snorted behind him and a few chuckles could be heard, but Sherlock paid them no mind and focused intently on the beautiful man in front of him. "But I know for sure that, since I've met you, I have changed, and only for the better. From the day I met you at Bart's I knew there was something different about you, something wonderfully unique. I invited you into my home, my work, my life and you were crazy enough to decide to stay. You worked your way into my heart that I had kept bricked up for years and showed me that it was possible for me to feel loved and to love in return."   
  
Sherlock could feel his eyes burning as he tried to hold back the tears, but it was futile as the first salty drop rolled down his cheek.   
  
"I know I deleted everything about the solar system, but you, John, have become the center of my universe and I promise to spend the rest of my life, showing you just how much you mean to me."   
  
A chorus of "awws" echoed through the room, broken up by another muffled sob from Mrs. Hudson. Sherlock held tightly onto John's hand as he reached up with his other to wipe the tears from his face. Never had he felt so much emotion. He was filled with overwhelming joy.   
  
John stepped closer to Sherlock, using his own free hand to wipe away the tears that the detective had missed. The movement was so simple and so gentle but so entrancing that neither men heard their minister ask them if they took each other through the usual blah blah. It was only after the audience had started to chuckled and Mike poked John in the back subtly, that the doctor realised his mistake. He glanced at the minister to find the man staring back at him. "Oh. Right. Yes. Of course I do." He said, like it was the most preposterous thing in the world that he even had to be asked.   
  
The minister turned and repeated his words to Sherlock, who never tore his eyes away. "I do," he said, both men absolutely beaming at each other now. Mike stepped up beside John and handed him the ring while Greg handed the other to Sherlock. The minister led them through the ring vows and Sherlock with baited breath as John slid the familiar gold band onto his finger. Sherlock then took John's own hand and repeated the vow before sliding the matching band onto John. He held onto both of John's hands once he was through and showed no intent to let go anytime soon.   
  
John squeezed Sherlock's hands, leaning in.   
  
"You may n-" the minister began, stopping when he realised they pair were already kissing.   
  
John's eyes fluttered closed at the familiar sensation he knew he could never tire of.   
  
A round of cheers and applause broke out behind them. Sherlock stepped closer and deepened the kiss, smiling broadly against John's lips. The smile remained when they finally pulled away and Sherlock could hardly force himself to look anywhere else but into John's eyes.   
  
John felt his eyes fill with tears. "My Sherlock." He murmured, so only the detective could hear. "My wonderful wonderful Sherlock."   
  
Eventually, they both turned to look at their families and friends and the cheer grew louder. John leaned against Sherlock, the picture of unadulterated bliss.   
  
Sherlock smiled genuinely and kissed the top of John's head. The minister ushered them aside to sign the marriage documents while their guests were led towards the reception area. Greg and Mycroft stood nearby to sign as witnesses. As soon as the last signature was added, Sherlock swooped in to steal another kiss.   
  
John giggled as the document was whisked away to be officiated.   
  
He grabbed Sherlock's hand and dragged him to the reception, twirling him around when they reached the dance floor. He let go of Sherlock's hand and bowed deeply. "Would you do me the honour of letting me have this dance?"   
  
Sherlock chuckled and looked to the small orchestra up on stage. They were set up in front of a thick curtain and being led by an old conductor. He caught Sherlock's eye and signaled the orchestra to stop while he went to the mic. "And now, ladies and gentlemen. It's time for the groom and groom to have their dance." Sherlock and John made their way to the center of the dance floor and the conductor raised his hands, cuing the orchestra to begin playing an orchestral variation of a familiar song, the same one that Sherlock always played to calm John's nightmares. 


	97. "To John and Sherlock!"

John's jaw dropped. "You didn't." He breathed. "Oh my god. You are the most wonderful man I've ever met." He bit his lip, leaning into Sherlock's arms as they spun around the room.   
  
Sherlock grinned and leaned down to whisper in John's ear. "There's still a bit more." The music began to grow, setting up the feeling of anticipation for some grand movement. The curtain behind the small group of musicians suddenly was pulled open, revealing an entire symphonic orchestra that was now playing along under the conductors direction. Sherlock chuckled at the look of awe on everyone's face, but particularly that of John's.   
  
John felt faint. There was so much he wanted to say but he didn't want to - couldn't - talk over the music. He clung to Sherlock, impossibly close, trying to convey his appreciation through wordless actions.   
  
Sherlock smiled and rested his chin on John's head, wrapping his arms around him entirely as they just swayed to the music. As the piece approached the end, Sherlock pulled away and tilted John's head up to press their lips together in a tender kiss.   
  
"I..." John said softly. "Wow. How do you think some crummy lab beats this?" He teased.   
  
Sherlock made a look of mock offense. "My lab's not 'crummy'," he replied, smiling as he pecked John on the cheek. "My lab is amazing and so are you. But I am glad you liked your present," he murmured.   
  
"You got an orchestra to play my lullaby. How could I not love it?" A band had begun to play more upbeat music and many of the guests were now on the dance floor bopping away. Sherlock and John stayed in the centre of the room, swaying as if the melody hadn't stopped.   
  
"I had the piece recorded too. You have no idea how long it took me to come up with the idea. For a while, I was worried I wouldn't be able to get you a present at all. It needed to be perfect."   
  
"It was. It is. You are." John shook his head. "I'm the luckiest person alive."   
  
"Mr. John Watson-Holmes," Sherlock purred into his ear.   
  
"That's 'doctor' to you, Sherlock." John whispered back, mockingly stern, punishing Sherlock for his slip up with a soft pinch to his perfect arse.   
  
Sherlock jumped a little and then looked at John with a teasing glare. "My apologies, Dr. John Watson-Holmes," he amended, leaning down to brush his lips against John's.   
  
The music flowed on for a good while until Greg went up on stage and announced it was time to cut the cake. He jumped down eagerly and rushed down where, to Sherlock's shock, he had been dancing and holding hands with Mycroft.   
  
John glanced guiltily at Sherlock as the detective spotted his brother and the detective inspector. He dragged him over to the cake to take his mind off it. Cake was served but before anyone had a chance to start eating, Mike Stamford was at the microphone with a glass of champagne in his hand. "If I could have your attention." He called, clearing his throat awkwardly. "I'd like to make a toast."   
  
The room giggled, but soon fell hush as all eyes fell on Mike. Sherlock still thought this part was ridiculous, but Connie and John insisted it was an important part, so he stayed quiet, his hand caressing John's under the table.   
  
"I met John Watson when we were in uni studying medicine together. He was top of the class in everything, somehow managing to juggle rugby on top of that and girlfriends, never more than one at a time of course, on top of that. I knew that this boy would grow up to be so much more than a great doctor; he'd be a great man as well. He proved me right, of course, by signing up for the British army and flying off around the world to save people. Thanks John, I like being right.   
  
"When I bumped into John a few years ago, I had spent the morning being pestered by Sherlock Holmes about feet and flatmates. So when John mentioned this as well, the flatmate part, not the feet, my mind inadvertently began to plot. John had always liked danger, and Sherlock was danger. Sherlock needed someone to ground him, and if John wasn't an anchor then I'm a shoe. I decided it was worth a shot, right? 'It's not like they have to get married or anything.' I said to myself. 'They just have to like each other.'   
  
"They got married. And then got a divorce and now they're getting married again. But then, I never would have expected anything different; they're both just that mad. They're both just that madly in love.   
  
"Sherlock and John Watson-Holmes, if I could only have done one good thing in my life, I'm so glad it was bringing you two together, because no two people are more deserving of a happy ending." He raised his glass. "To Sherlock and John."   
  
"To Sherlock and John," Chorused the rest of the guests raising their glasses and taking a sip. The clinking of a spoon on glass was heard as Gregory Lestrade stood up.   
  
"Now hold on, hold on. There are two best men, which means two best man's speeches." Everyone shuffled in their seats to turn and face Greg, eagerly awaiting his speech so they could get to the cake.   
  
"Now, I met Sherlock years ago, long before John, and let me tell you, if anyone had told me back then that I would one day be his best man, I would've called them mad and sent 'em off. Yet here I am. Sherlock, when I first met you I thought you were a complete nutter. Over the course of the year, you convinced me otherwise and for the next four years, I just thought you were a genius crime-solving arse." Some of the crowd chuckle and Greg laughed a little along with them before resuming his speech. "And then comes along John Watson, a seemingly normal bloke that Sherlock, for whatever reason, had decided to drag to a crime scene one day. I was shocked to learn that they were flatmates, and I'll be honest, I had expected John to take off any day. But he didn't. He stayed and he and Sherlock developed one of the most incredible friendships I have ever seen. And let me tell you, John, that I had never seen Sherlock so happy before he met you and I am so grateful that he found someone who could keep him in line because god knows I couldn't. You two have grown into some of the greatest men I have ever met and I wish you a lifetime of happiness ahead of you. To John and Sherlock!"   
  
"To John and Sherlock." The crowd echoed again.   
  
John was blushing bright pink when Greg sat down and said, "Now you can eat cake." The guests tucked in with renewed zeal, chatting and laughing. Only John and Sherlock stayed silent, seated so close together they were almost one person. Sherlock was refusing to eat so John was feeding him every other bite from his own slice, not even noticing how many people were watching them and ‘aww’ing.   
  
Sherlock leaned into John, his John, and slowly chewed on the bites of cake John was force feeding him. He turned to look at the guests and notice a decent amount of heads suddenly turn away, as if they had been caught looking at something they shouldn't. He chuckled at the ridiculous people they knew and then caught sight of Mycroft. Specifically, Mycroft laughing. Genuinely laughing at something Greg was saying beside him. "I think the world's going to end. I've never seen Mycroft that happy," he whispered discretely in John's ear.   
  
John glanced over at the pair. "They've been dating for a while now. I didn't know how to tell you. They do look genuinely happy with each other. It's nice."   
  
Sherlock hummed and studied the two for a bit longer before turning back to his husband. He moved forward and kissed the edge of John's mouth while discretely licking off a bit of icing that had been there. "They can do what they want. I've just never seen Mycroft smile like that. Not since we were very young."   
  
John grinned and rested his head on Sherlock's shoulder. "Thank you for eating today." He said after a long pause.   
  
Sherlock chuckled and laid his head on top of John's. "You would have found some way to get food into me, I'm sure," he joked, rubbing his thumb over John's knuckles. "I'm sorry about earlier," he added in a quieter voice.   
  
John shook his head. "You have nothing to apologise for. It wasn't your fault."   
  
"I made you worry though. Exactly how close were you to breaking the door down?" Sherlock asked with an amused grin.   
  
John huffed. "If you'd waited about thirty more seconds, I think, I would have done something."   
  
Sherlock chuckled and kissed John's head affectionately. "That's my John." The music had begun playing again and some people got up to continue dancing. It seemed that the storm at passed, much to Sherlock's pleasure, and he sighed in content.   
  
John smiled at the noise. "Care to dance, husband?" He said with a grin.   
  
"It would be my pleasure," Sherlock replied. John stood up and pulled Sherlock from his seat before leading him over to the dance floor, immersing themselves within their crowd of friends. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Next chapter is almost-plotless shameless smut.


	98. "Venice awaits."

John Watson couldn't dance to save his life. He just kind of bopped along completely out of time to music, eyes glued to his lithe and graceful detective.   
  
Sherlock laughed at John's awkward movements and danced closer to him, placing his hands on John's hips as he guided him to the rhythm. "Just do as I do," he said, almost shouting over the music.   
  
John nodded, placing his hands on Sherlock's shoulder, watching their feet to try and see what he was doing wrong.   
  
Sherlock grinned and guided John's hips while expertly avoiding having his own feet stepped on. Other guests parted the way as Sherlock led them across the dance floor, some stopping to watch and take in the adorable scene.   
  
"I think it's time we left, or else we'll miss our flight, doctor," Sherlock purred in John's ear as they swayed to a slow song.   
  
John nodded. He walked up to the microphone. "Right. Well my husband and I will be leaving now. Venice awaits. I just wanted to thank you all for coming and sharing the most special day of our lives with us." He smiled down and Sherlock. "My husband and I appreciate every single one of you." Husband. He loved that word. "Thank you. Have a safe journey home."   
  
There was a round of cheering and some lewd whistling as the two waved goodbye to the crowd and made their way out the door. Their luggage at already been loaded into one of Mycroft's vehicles which was ready to take them to the airport. In the back was a change of clothes for each of them. The windows were tinted to ensure privacy and a divider separated them from the driver. Sherlock held John's hand as his husband waved goodbye to the rest of the crowd and then tugged Sherlock into the vehicle.   
  
Once the car had begun its drive to the airport, John leaned in and kissed Sherlock, smiling broadly.   
  
Sherlock pressed back against him, wrapping his arms around John's waist and deciding he would be more than happy if they just stayed like this for the rest of their lives. "I love you," he whispered against John's lips.   
  
"I love you too, my husband." John said. "We have to get changed." He murmured "So why don't we..." He trailed off, fingers tugging at Sherlock's suit buttons.   
  
Sherlock blushed, but leaned back in his seat, pulling John with him as the blonde doctor began to pop open the buttons. Sherlock's own fingers found their way to John's suit and began to mirror his actions. John let out a content sigh, tracing Sherlock's neck with his tongue. He pushed the suit jacket from his husband's shoulders.   
  
Sherlock bit back a satisfied groan as he tilted his head back. He helped John shimmy the jacket off his arms, before returning to the task of trying to divest his husband.   
  
"Are we going to shag in the back of a limo?" He asked, grinning, tugging at Sherlock's bowtie.   
  
"We have forty five minutes until we get to the airport. The driver can't see or hear us and no one can look in. I can't think of any logical reason why you shouldn't take me right now," Sherlock growled, restraining himself from tearing off the buttons on John's shirt.   
  
John let out a lust-filled whimper and tugged at Sherlock's pesky trousers. "We don't have a condom. Or a cloth with which to clean up afterwards." He said as Sherlock's shirt became unbuttoned and found its way to the floor. "We're both clean. There are napkins by the mini fridge," Sherlock replied pulling John's shirt off his shoulders and then moving to help John undo his belt.   
  
John nodded. "Lube?" He slid off Sherlock's lap and shed his own shoes, trousers and boxers. He leant forwards to pull Sherlock's trousers down.   
  
Sherlock hadn't thought about that one. They had some, but it was in one of the suitcases in the trunk. He reached down and took John's hand, taking three of his fingers into his mouth and sucking on them, coating them generously with his own spit.   
  
John moaned at the contact and sat back on Sherlock's lap, removing his fingers from his husband's mouth and reaching the slicked hand down to his own puckered hole. He gasped as he pushed in the first finger, though pleasure overcame the pain much sooner than before.   
  
Sherlock's member throbbed at the sight of John preparing himself. "I thought you preferred it the other way around," he purred teasingly, planting tender kisses over John's face and neck.   
  
"I do. But I'm already on your lap. May as well stay there." His words were interspersed with moans and sharp gasps.   
  
Sherlock chuckled and captured John's lips as his own hand moved back, squeezing John's arse before moving to help guide John's fingers.   
  
John kissed Sherlock back with ferocity, adding a second finger to himself, going weak with pleasure. He slid of Sherlock's lap again. "Take off your pants." John growled.   
  
Sherlock wasted no time arguing, quickly lifting his hips and sliding his pants down to the floor.   
  
As soon as it was visible, John took Sherlock's length into his mouth. He swirled his tongue around the skin, trying to wet it as much as possible.   
  
"Ah. John." Sherlock's hands found their way up to John's hair, clenching the blonde strands as John teased his cock.   
  
John hummed in reply before removing his mouth. He sat back on Sherlock's lap, hovering over his dick. "Ready?" He asked.   
  
Sherlock nodded, resting his hands on John's hips to help steady him. He bit back a moan as John began to press down, slowly taking in Sherlock's cock.   
  
Once John was fully seated, kissed Sherlock softly. "This is definitely preferable to being under you." He murmured.   
  
Sherlock grinned and moved in for another kiss. "Noted for future reference," he said, trailing his lips down to kiss John's neck. "But now you have to do most of the work," he said, giving his hips a small roll in emphasis.   
  
John let out a gasp at the contact and ground down on Sherlock, trying to recreate the sensation. "Maybe I like doing all the work." He purred.   
  
Sherlock's member throbbed at John's tone and he hummed as he buried his face affectionately into John's neck. "Then what are you waiting for?" he growled, lightly nipping at the delicate flesh at his lips.   
  
John felt his eyes roll beneath his eyelids with pleasure at the touch. He raised himself upwards and then sat down sharply on Sherlock's beautiful dick. He heard Sherlock groaned beneath him and continued impaling himself, repeatedly, almost screaming with pleasure.   
  
Sherlock pulled John down and muffled his screams with a bruising kiss. "The divider isn't that soundproof," he said with a cheeky grin, capturing John's lips again and moaning as John continued to ride him. He reached his free hand down and cupped John's balls, squeezing them teasingly.   
  
John bit back a yelp. "I know." He hissed. "That's why I tried to... not." He shifted the angle of his hips slightly and immediately ducked him head to bite Sherlock's shoulder as his cock grazed his sensitive spot.   
  
Sherlock arched and thrust harder into John, hissing as he felt his teeth sink deeper. He squeezed John's hips tightly as he felt a hot tension building in his groin.   
  
"Nearly there." John growled into the skin as he felt the organs in his lower torso tighten with anticipation for release.   
  
Sherlock bit back a moan and began pistoning his hips, moving faster until John suddenly cried out and clenched around him. Sherlock bit his lip to keep from screaming as he shot his own load deep into his husband, his wonderful, fantastic, husband.   
  
John relaxed against Sherlock as he felt the hot sweet liquid fill him. His own release had been painted across his detective's alabaster skin. "Can we spend the first three days of this in bed?" John mumbled.   
  
"God, yes," Sherlock replied. "I want you to take me as soon as we get to our hotel." His eyes were closed as he laid lax against the seat, one hand lazily stroking up and down John's back.   
  
John giggled. "Something can definitely be arranged." He replied, stretching his neck to brush his lips against Sherlock's. "I love you."   
  
"Mmmm...love you too," Sherlock murmured, placing a sweet kiss on John's lips. "We should probably get cleaned up now," he suggested, grinning in satisfaction.   
  
John sat up and yawned. "Yeah." He said, pulling himself off Sherlock and fetching the napkins Sherlock had mentioned. He handed the detective a few and settled back on his lap. He began wiping his release off his husband's chest, slowly and deliberately, committing every second to memory.   
  
Sherlock hummed and then reached around to wipe away any cum dripping out of John's swollen hole. He balled the soiled napkin and tossed it into the waste bin and then went back to tracing John's spine as he continued to clean him. "Today I married John Watson-Holmes, and then shagged him in the back of a limo. Perfect wedding day indeed," he said with a ecstatic grin.   
  
John giggled. "Definitely my favourite so far." He teased. He finished cleaning, kissed the ivory skin softly (right over Sherlock's heart) and tossed the used napkins in the bin. Sherlock smiled and gently moved John off his lap so that he could reach over and grabbed the neat stacks of clothes. "We're lucky. There seems to be a change of pants included," he said with a light chuckle.   
  
"How very insightful of Mycroft." John joked, pulling on the neat little red pair that had been left on top of his jumper. "These aren't mine." He mumbled. "What do you think?" He struck an over-exaggerated pose for Sherlock.   
  
The detective hummed in approval as his eyes raked over the red material. "I think you should buy more like it.." he murmured, before pulling on a pair of his own black pants that seemed to be just a little too tight. "These aren't mine either. I think someone is getting a laugh out of this," he mused.   
  
John nearly purred at the sight of Sherlock in the tiny black pants. "The laugh's on them; we're getting you more of those. A lot more."   
  
Sherlock chuckled and turned his back toward John, blushing as he purposely knocked his shirt down and then bent over to pick it up off the car floor.   
  
John wolf whistled and slapped the arse in front of him lightly. "You are such a tease, Holmes." He said with a chuckle.   
  
"That's Watson-Holmes now," Sherlock said with a wink. He shrugged on his shirt and did the buttons before reaching for his trousers. "I estimate we have another 25 minutes until we arrive," he said, sliding up next to John once they were both dressed.   
  
John curled up under Sherlock's arm and leaned against him. "Any chance you saw deodorant on your explorations of the limo? I bet we stink of sex."   
  
"Hmm..I did not, but I believe we can stop by the restroom and fish some out of a suitcase," he replied, wrapping his arm around John's shoulder.   
  
John nodded. "I can't believe we're actually married." He mumbled. "Again." He added as an afterthought.   
  
"I know the feeling," Sherlock replied, giving John's shoulder a comforting squeeze.   
  
John sighed against Sherlock happily and a content silence fell over the vehicle. 


	99. "Just take your damn clothes off, Holmes"

The fortnight the newlyweds spent in Venice was the most interesting holiday John had ever been on. For the first week, he thought it was a pity they'd bothered leaving Baker Street at all; surely one can have just as much sex at home as in a honeymoon suite. However, once the couple had found time to leave their hotel, the holiday proved a little more interesting. Sherlock found them a case within three days (something about a headless Shakespearean actress bathing in someone else's blood) and ended up in prison for a night, then in custody in the British embassy for two more. Sherlock sent Mycroft a total of a hundred and eleven death threats by text during those two days, while John went sight-seeing. Eventually, the British Government got them on a flight home. And that was that.   
  
The doctor stumbled into the flat, weighed down by suitcases which he promptly dropped, put on the kettle and sank into his chair. "I can't believe you got banned from Italy." He murmured, glancing up at his detective.   
  
"Not my fault they didn't appreciated my methods..." Sherlock muttered, collapsing into the chair opposite, sulking slightly.   
  
"Honestly, I caught the criminal and it's not like anyone got hurt."   
  
John chuckled. "Except for the prides of every police on the force. I don't even speak Italian and I was offended." He joked, getting up again when the kettle dinged.   
  
Sherlock huffed and pouted in his chair. Who needs to go to Italy anyway?   
  
John returned with two steaming mugs of tea. He handed one to Sherlock and sat down with his own, inhaling its scent deeply. "As nice as that holiday was, I did miss my tea." He murmured, smiling at his husband.   
  
Sherlock chuckled and took a small sip of his. "Always so British," he teased.   
  
John shrugged, grinning. "Who am I to argue with tradition?" He sipped the steaming drink and heaved a content sigh.   
  
Sherlock felt a lot less pouty after he finished his tea. He set the cup aside and gazed across the room at his husband, tracing his eyes over John's form.   
  
John watched Sherlock study him over the top of his mug. "Did you ever hear from Moriarty again?" He asked after a long pause, unsure why the question had suddenly popped into his head.   
  
Sherlock hesitated and sighed while averting his gaze elsewhere. "He sent us a congratulations card. Said he was upset he didn't get an invite, but he forgave us since he and Moran are apparently out of the country."   
  
John nodded. "Out of the country?" He asked, interest piqued. "Together or just... together?" He realised the question made no sense, but hoped Sherlock would understand; he had no better way to explain.   
  
Sherlock quirked his eyebrow at the nonsensical question. "The picture he included suggested both meanings," he replied, assuming that was what John meant.   
  
John smiled. "Well," he said, watching Sherlock fondly, "I suppose every psychopath deserves their army veteran."   
  
"I’m a high functioning sociopath, John," Sherlock corrected, grinning when he caught John's gaze.   
  
"'But we both know that's not quite true'." John quoted with a smirk, setting his now-empty mug aside.   
  
Sherlock groaned and buried his head in his hands. "Please do not start quoting that man. I'd rather not reminisce about all the 'wonderful' times we've had with him."   
  
John giggled and then let out a weary groan. "We should unpack and go to bed. It's getting late."   
  
"Do we have to unpack now?" Sherlock whined, draping himself dramatically across his chair.   
  
John chuckled. "I guess not. We'll do that tomorrow. Shower and bed then?"   
  
"Sounds excellent," Sherlock said, stretching as he stood up and began walking to the bathroom. "Coming?"   
  
John stood and followed him to the bathroom, shedding his shoes and jumper before locking the door behind them. He smiled up at Sherlock. Mine, he thought proudly to himself.   
  
Sherlock began undoing the buttons on his shirt, smiling as he felt John step up behind him. "Yes, doctor?" he purred, not bothering to turn around.   
  
"Nothing, nothing. Just... you. Wonderful, brilliant... you." John murmured. He saw Sherlock's hands undo the last of the buttons and took the silky material into his own hands, tugging it off Sherlock's shoulders, kissing the shoulder blades as they were revealed.   
  
Sherlock hummed and closed his eyes, leaning back a little towards John. "How brilliant am I? Please, do tell me more about myself," Sherlock teased.   
  
John chuckled. "Just take your damn clothes off Holmes." He said, mockingly stern. He began taking his own shirt and trousers off.   
  
"Yes, captain," Sherlock replied. He popped open the button on his trousers and dropped them to the floor, followed quickly by his pants.   
  
John smirked, turning the water on before pulling down his own briefs. He stepped under the spray and motioned to Sherlock to follow, picking up the shampoo.   
  
Sherlock stepped in after him, drenching himself under the warm spray and sighing contently as he felt his muscles relax.   
  
John squirted some of the shampoo into his hands. "On your knees." At Sherlock's smirking glance, he rolled his eyes. "I can't reach your hair when you're standing, you git. Don't suck me off."   
  
Sherlock chuckled and lowered himself down, putting him at face level with John's groin. "Are you sure?" he teased, looking up at John through his lashes. He was forced to look down again as John pushed his head over so that he could start working in the shampoo, but it wasn't in time to prevent Sherlock from catching the blush on John's face.   
  
"Too tired to get hard." John grumbled. "And that was not a challenge." He scrubbed Sherlock's scalp for a moment longer before telling him to stand up. "You can wash off now."   
  
Sherlock rose and stood back under the spray, tilting his head back to keep the suds from running into his eyes. Once he was sure everything was rinsed out, he looked back to John. He stepped forward to reach past him for the shampoo, murmuring "Your turn," in his ear and giving him a peck on the cheek. Sherlock squirted some in his hand and meticulously worked it into John's sandy blonde hair, putting in the effort to make sure John was receiving an enjoyable scalp massage in the process.   
  
John closed his eyes and leaned into Sherlock's hands. "I love you and your beautiful violinist's hands." He said with a content sigh.   
  
Sherlock smiled as John relaxed under his ministrations. He kissed John on the nose before removing his hands. "Time to rinse, then we can dry off and go to bed," he murmured, pulling John forward to place him under the shower head.   
  
John nodded and let the water wash over him. Sherlock's hands in his hair felt absolutely heavenly. "We should do this more often. We'd save on water." He mumbled.   
  
"Something tells me you have other reasons besides cutting down our bills," Sherlock murmured teasingly. He then yawned and felt behind him to turn off the shower.   
  
John took one of Sherlock's hands in his and kissed along his long skilled fingers. "What... reason... would... that... be?" He asked between kisses.   
  
"The pleasure of my company," Sherlock replied, eyes focused on John's lips as they trailed over his hand.   
  
John giggled. "Yes, that's it." He shivered and stepped out of the bath, taking two towels and handing one to Sherlock. "See? I'm drying myself this time?" He said with a grin.   
  
"Good. I don't believe our comforters need another washing," Sherlock purred, drying off and wrapping the towel around his waist. He walked over to John and collapsed dramatically over his shoulders. "I'm tired, John," he whined, subtly shifting more of his weight onto the smaller soldier.   
  
John wrapped his arms around the detective's waist. "Come on then, my love, bedtime." He murmured into Sherlock's ear. Sherlock hummed in agreement and made his way out of the bathroom, eyes half closed. Once they reached the bedroom, Sherlock discarded his towel and collapsed on the bed, smiling at the warmth that instantly surrounded him.   
  
John rolled his eyes, pulling on a pair of boxers before climbing into bed. "You're aware you're naked, yes?" He teased.   
  
"Mmmm… Is that a problem?" he asked, sitting up just to pull the duvet over top of them.   
  
John snorted. "Not at all." He planted a kiss on Sherlock's temple and lay back on his own side of the bed, flicking off the light switch.   
  
"Good night, love of my life." He mumbled.   
  
Sherlock grinned and situated himself under the covers. "Good night, my dearest John," he whispered, reaching his hand out until he found that of his partner and laced their fingers together. As the night past they drifted closer to each other, though they were unaware of it, until eventually they were laying flush. Their interlaced hands trapped beneath their chests such that each could feel the other's chest rise in fall, a steady rhythm that fell in sync, in and out, pressing back and forth against each other. Two souls existing in perfect harmony. 


	100. "You are a ridiculous man, Sherlock Watson-Holmes."

The next morning, John woke up before Sherlock. He lay in bed, watching the beautiful man beside him. Sleeping Sherlock was such a contrast to Awake Sherlock. It was hard to believe they were the same person.  
  
"You know, in some cultures it is considered odd to watch another person sleep." Sherlock's voice was laced with sleep as he spoke, causing his words to be slightly slurred. He slowly opened his eyes and met John's gaze, smiling at the sight. He had long ago determined that morning John was one of the most beautiful things he could ever see. His blonde hair would be slightly matted and sticking up in odd directions while his face held an expression of blissful relaxation. "If I'm odd, I dread to think what you would be." John teased in reply, blinking lazily at his husband.  
  
Sherlock chuckled and slowly sat up to give John a good morning kiss.  
  
John grinned and kissed back lovingly before pulling back. "Go do your teeth, Sherlock." He said, pretending to be horrified. "And put your bloody pants on."  
  
Sherlock stuck his tongue out childishly. To tease John further, he made sure to exaggerate his hip motions when he walked over to the wardrobe to throw on a pair of briefs before exiting to go brush his teeth, as per John's commands.  
  
John rolled his eyes. "You are a ridiculous man, Sherlock Watson-Holmes." He called after his husband. "And make me tea." He lay back in bed with a weary groan.  
  
"Yes, sir!" Sherlock shouted back mockingly from the bathroom, though it came out a little odd as his mouth was full of toothpaste when he said it.  
  
John chuckled to himself, closing his eyes and lying back on the pillow to await the return of his husband.  
  
Sherlock returned soon enough, carrying two cups of tea. He gave one to John as he sat up and then sat down next to him so that their shoulders brushed. "I'll admit, years ago I never would have pictured this as my future."  
  
John grinned. "Neither would I. I mean, marriage was hoped for, but with my mad detective flatmate who drags me around London?" He chuckled. "Not my wildest dreams." He sipped his tea and pulled a face. "Sugar, Sherlock. You trying to drug me again?" He teased.  
  
Sherlock quirked an eyebrow and took a sip of his own before pulling a similar face. He swapped their drinks and took a sip from the new cup and sighed in satisfaction. "Odd. I never get those mixed up," he mused, before shrugging and taking another sip.  
  
John giggled, leaning against him. "Lazy day in bed?" He suggested.  
  
"Oh, God, yes." Sherlock replied, wrapping an arm around John's shoulder to pull him in closer.  
  
John smiled and relaxed into Sherlock. Life was bliss.  
  
 _Fin_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. So, it’s done. It’s honestly going to be weird not to have to post a chapter every day, or to get to read your comments. Your feedback throughout the last few months has been so enheartening, I wish I had the words to thank every single one of you for reading, kudosing, commenting…
> 
> Now to the not-sappy part of my little ‘finishing speech’. A sequel is being written (achingly slowly as I’m very busy and my writing partner is too). I have no idea when it’ll be out but there you go. A little - totally cliché, desperately sentimental - Parentlock to look forward to.
> 
> If you want to see my other writings my creative writing tumblr is [**thelizlanganblog**](Http//:thelizlangblog.tumblr.com)(Link not working, sorry!).
> 
> I have about three more ideas in my head right now (excluding this one's sequel) so subscribe or whatever to my authorshipness to hear about those.
> 
> That’s all folks.
> 
>  
> 
> _Liz xx_


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